


No Place Like

by Serena_Rose



Series: No Place Like [1]
Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Broken Eleanor, Conditioning, Dark fic, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fantasy, Feral Behavior, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Mildly Dubious Consent, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Redemption, Romance, Rough Oral Sex, Season One Michael is Evil but gets better(?), Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:33:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 131,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23761621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serena_Rose/pseuds/Serena_Rose
Summary: Michael never stopped the train in time to save Eleanor from going to the real Bad Place. By the time he's able to 'save' her, Trevor has done more than enough damage.Now Michael has to restore Eleanor so she's fit to be tortured again. But can he do so without getting too attached to his human?Inspired by this prompt: https://crimefighter-bae-b.tumblr.com/post/184661603525/rambling-about-a-whump-tgp-fanfic-idea-i-had-but
Relationships: Eleanor Shellstrop/Trevor (The Good Place), Michael (The Good Place) & Eleanor Shellstrop, Michael (The Good Place)/Eleanor Shellstrop, Team Cockroach - Relationship
Series: No Place Like [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1782481
Comments: 204
Kudos: 163





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic Moodboard: https://herqueensguard.tumblr.com/post/627690768757325824/moodboard-for-my-fic-no-place-like-lyrics-here

They don’t allow her to sleep. She’s tired. Always tired. Every now and then, her brain feels as though it’s about teeter over into sweet unconsciousness, before she’s forced to stay awake.

Would it be possible to sleep, without the curse, given how they leave her?

Her hands are bound, above her head, in cable ties that slice with the smallest motion. Her bruised and broken feet drag across the cold, blood-soaked floor. She’s strung up just high enough so that they can never fully take her weight. She’s nothing but a piece of meat hung up on display.

They’ve left her alone. It’s no relief.

When it’s quiet in her cell, it means she has to listen to what is happening in everyone else’s. Their agony echoes through the stone walls to her and, when she accepts there’s no way to block them out, she finds herself playing a game of picturing who they are by their voice. There’s a lot of men, maybe abusive boyfriends getting their due, or just a poor sap who constantly parked his car over two spaces. There’s also women and she wonders if they were trash like her or simply spent more money on shoes than charity drives. It wasn’t as though this system was fair. They didn’t discriminate.

She knows she’s Bad. She knows she belongs here.

She’s had to learn.

They never leave her alone for too long, only enough to give herself some time to the crushing loneliness. The only sounds within her cell are her own haggard breaths and the drops of blood falling from her wounds to the floor.

Drip. Drip. And, surprise, drip.

She never runs out, not unless they wish to drain her, which is only a faster method of the same torture. Allowing her to bleed out until she feels like she’s being sucked by a huge vacuum into nothing but a fragile stick figure. It was painful as fuck, but at least it was quick. And they refilled her as soon as possible to start again.

Will they leave her until she’s lost it all again, only a single drop at a time on this try?

Often times, she thinks, the slower tortures are worse than the sharp, loud and brutal ones they inflict. At least she can make a pathetic attempt to brace herself. It’s never enough. Never will be.

Drip. Drip.

She wishes she had been here from the start. The ultimate torture was believing, just for a brief glimmer of hope, that she might get off Scott free. That she might be spared. And then it was snatched away.

_“Hey! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”_

Her head lifts up. Her broken body springs to attention.

The voice on the other side is her one, remaining companion. Trevor. The only source of interaction she gets to experience from now on. Just a girl and her torturer.

She shudders, the cable ties biting at her wrists. What does he have planned?

What does he have left to show her?

Just keep your head down, Eleanor. Don’t close your eyes, he’ll only try to rip the lids off. Let him get on with it. Give him what he wants.

What you deserve.

_“That’s our girl. You can’t just take her from us!”_

Is it more frightening to hear Trevor when he’s angry? He’s usually so soft, making her skin crawl all the more, that quiet, condescending voice wriggling into her ear as he peels the skin off her back with a potato knife, joking to her about free cosmetic surgery. There was a time she had been able to match his quips and barbs with her own vile tongue.

Not anymore. He did all the talking in their fucked-up relationship now. He did everything.

Anything.

_“I’m not leaving her here! I believe she was sent to my neighborhood for a reason and that she was becoming a better person! She belongs with us!”_

That voice isn’t Trevor. It’s…

Oh.

No, no, that can’t be. They must be putting on a show. They’re choosing to fuck with her head now. They’ve grown tired of ripping and twisting parts off of her. She might be broken but she’s not stupid enough to believe…

_“You’re so full of shit, dude. The girl is trash and deserves to burn here with her fellow garbage bags.”_

_“Believe me or not, I don’t care and it doesn’t matter! I have the papers right here, from HQ, ordering an immediate return of Eleanor Shellstrop. Now you unlock that door, Trevor, or so help me, I’ll-.”_

_“Ugh, all right! Fine! Stop getting that stuffy old dude spit on me, jeez.”_

The lock on the door comes undone with a clang. She flinches, on instinct, awaiting whatever she’s due for today. That’s if ‘days’ are even a thing here. There’s no sun. No clock. There just is.

Trevor enters with a couple heavy steps and a beleaguered sigh.

“Okay, dumb dumb, fun time is over. Daddy’s come to take you home.” He claps his hands.

The cable ties vanish and she falls, face first, to the ground, her chin meeting the stone with an awful crunch. She presses her palms to the floor, barely having the strength to push herself up, asking herself if it’s better to stay as low as possible. Far less distance to fall again.

Her ears pick up the sound of other feet in the room. She shakes as she fears one pressing down on her skull.

“Eleanor?”

The impossible voice is back.

She manages to sit up only to be able to huddle back into the corner. Her twisted feet slip in the puddle of her own blood as she curls her bare legs to her chest and hides her face. Be as small as possible. Be invisible. It never worked here but she’s sure once upon a time, in a past life, it’s what she once had to do to survive a childhood.

Don’t look. It won’t be what you want it to be. It never is. Do not look.

Their presence moves close to her. It can’t be Trevor. He never keeps his hands off her for this long.

“Eleanor, look at me. Please.” The voice asks, in a tone she thought she would never hear again. Not in a place like this.

Taking a leap of faith, she peeks over the edge of her elbow to the face of the man kneeling in front of her. A pair of glasses. White, coiffed hair. A bow-tie with more colors than any in this cell of brown and red. Not Trevor. Trevor is close by, she knows. But perhaps if she only focuses on the image in front of her than she can pretend he isn’t there.

“…Do you remember me?” He asks, a hint of doubt in his whisper.

It takes some strength she sorely lacks in order to nod, eventually.

Michael.

Michael came. For her?

“Oh…” He reaches his hand out to her face and she flinches, roughly, pressing herself to the wall. No touching.

Touching means burns. Touching means. Invasion.

“What did they do to you, Eleanor?” Michael’s hand continues to hover near her, not quite touching, neither abandoning her.

“If you’re waiting for her to talk, you’re gonna wanna pitch a tent and wait for her tongue to grow back.” Trevor says with a smirk, his arms folded as he leans against the wall; “We ripped that sucker out on her second day. There’s only so long hearing a human swear like a sailor as you screw their thumbs inside out is entertaining.”

Her eyes flicker upward, a brief glimmer of defiance. She might not have been able to vocalise in her favorite curses her hatred for him, but it didn’t stop her thinking them.

Trevor then makes a motion of darting forward and it’s enough for Eleanor to fall again, whimpering. She pulls at the collar of her dirty shift to hide her face like a frightened turtle. No, no, sorry, sorry, please, sorry! He laughs, barely moving away from the wall, practically giddy from how he’s been able to break her in, make her cower like the wretch she is.

The concerned, large hand that’s ghosting near her clenches into a fist.

Michael stands up and gets in Trevor’s face.

“Give it back! Restore her! NOW!” His quiet, commanding voice sends Eleanor trembling.

Is this really Michael? The same Michael who had quivered and stammered in panic at the thought of failing at his job and being retired? The same Michael who had called for Trevor to come ‘collect’ her in the first place?

How long had she been here and was it long enough for an angel to grow a spine?

Trevor rolls his eyes and claps his hands again.

Eleanor almost chokes when she feels the weight return to her hollow, aching mouth. Her cuts and open wounds seal up like zips. Teeth appear back in place, fingernails regrow within a second, her feet twisting back into place. Her body regenerates. Her mind keeps the pain.

Michael turns to her again; “Better?”

What kind of question is that?

She crumbles, her hand flat against the wall. The scent of her own blood is still thick against her nose and now, also, her returned taste-buds. This was the new game. Put her back together so it can all begin again. It wasn’t the first time, though they usually only restored one part at a time, depending on the focus of the torture. One day her head had been scalped three times, after they let it quickly regrow to her shoulders, tearing it off like Velcro.

Just get it over with, she wishes she could say. She knows better than to dare use her tongue again.

“Might as well leave her here, Mikey. Look at her. You really want a weak little runt like that in your perfect puppy farm?” Trevor teases, “She’s used to it here. She knows her place. Don’t you, bitch?”

Eleanor hides her face again. Would it be easier to show him she agrees?

She is only just accepting it. Don’t ruin it now. Don’t you dare give her hope of seeing the sun again. Seeing…him.

“No!” Michael responds, defiant; “She’s coming with me!”

He puts his hands to her face, letting her struggle and cry, wordlessly, at first. She can’t escape his grip.

“Eleanor. I’m getting you out of here. I’m saving you.” He tells her, working to get her to look at him; “You want to go home, don’t you? Back to the Good Place? Back to Chidi?”

It’s the name which makes her pause.

Had she forgotten that name until now?

Slowly, with the meekest of moans, she nods her head. Home. Yes. Please.

Take me back. Save me.

“Good girl. C’mon then,” Michael moves forward, sliding his arms underneath her tiny frame, letting her move her own around his shoulders.

He picks her up as if she weighed nothing. She most likely does. She doesn’t remember the last time she ate. Or drank.

At least, nothing sustainable. Nothing that wasn’t designed to make her vomit.

It’s an odd sensation. To be lifted off the ground and not hanging by stretched out limbs. To be held, safe and secure, like she thought she never would be held again. How she’d barely known it was possible to be held before. Her hands don’t let go of Michael’s neck, half-expecting to be dropped on her ass at any moment. Dumped like the trash bag she was.

Trevor clicks his tongue and moves closer.

“Well, sweet cheeks. It sure has been fun. Don’t worry, I promise it won’t be too long until our heart-warming reunion. I’ll even start planning all the wonderful, romantic surprises I have in mind for us, once you’re back here. It’ll be like you never left.” He chuckles, “Oh, and don’t forget to smile.”

Eleanor turns away, hiding her face in Michael’s shoulder, shaking like a leaf.

Just. Get her out. Please. No more.

Michael adjusts her in his grip, a little, before moving forwards.

“Get the fuck out of my way.”

It was chilling enough to hear him curse, let alone without the filter she had once grown so used to that swearing for real here had come as a startling change. She almost allows herself to start to believe this is real. He is real.

Miraculously, Trevor steps aside.

*

The train car is empty. It’s not as if anyone else has booked a ticket from the Bad Place to the ‘Good Place’. He carries her on board and looks for the comfiest seat, gently depositing her down. At first, she refuses to let go of him, having clung to him fretfully for the entire walk, all the way from the Remand cells, through the lava pits, pass the Wendy’s, all the way to the station. She’d kept her face buried in his jacket. She’d clearly seen more than enough of this place for an after-lifetime.

Michael stoops down and, ever so carefully, strips her arms back from him and to her sides. The smallest of struggles, she doesn’t want to let go, her fingers still grasping when he’s detached himself from her.

He takes her hands and warms them in his own.

“Listen. I just need a second to talk to Janet before we set off.” Michael reassures her, seeing the panic in those eyes; “I won’t be gone long. No one can take you off this train.”

She glances around, her body starting to shake again, just as it did for most of their escape route.

Ah. Obviously. The last time Eleanor was in a train, it had taken her into literal Hellfire, with the temperature rising higher at every second, until the air grew bone dry and every surface she touched would have sizzled her like bacon on a heated pan.

“This is a Good Place train, Eleanor. You’re safe.”

He pats her hair and goes to leave, glancing back at the short, blond thing. She barely seemed like the same girl he had met in his office for the first time just four months ago. She's always been short but now she seems tiny. Her starved, skeletal form swamped in the tattered dress that leaves little to the imagination. Her light is out. Extinguished.

Michael goes to the door of the train car.

Trevor waits for him, leaning against the threshold with a grin.

“What d’you think? Seems like she’s hook, line, sinker and body bag, dude.” He whispers.

Michael begrudgingly agrees. Not out loud.

From the way Eleanor had put up so little resistance to him collecting her, had then held onto him as if he was her very salvation, it seemed clear that she trust him as her Knight in suits instead of armor. He had worried that not enough trust had been built between them, enough time bonding with her as a supposed ‘friend’, that his appearance would invite such a reaction.

At first, she had hesitated. Understandable. Time had no meaning here but, if it did, it never took longer than what might seem like a week to start to break a human’s spirit. Eleanor was a tough nut to crack, no doubt, but she was no immovable stoic. Her psych profile may as well be titled Little Girl Screaming For Someone To Slap Her Into Place in an attempt to sum it all up. It may just be that a hell beast like Trevor was the first one to do so.

He was a pro. No one made the humans soil their shifts in terror like Trevor could with a single swagger into the room. Eleanor never stood a chance.

“Y’know, a ‘thank you’ would be appreciated! Or a gift, maybe? That Janet you’ve got is a bit of a babe and got some spunk in her for a Good one. Maybe let me borrow her for a ride?”

Michael glowers at the sicko, feeling a heat rise inside of him.

“It wasn’t supposed to go this way!” He reminds Trevor, hissing under his breath.

“Dude, chill.”

“I was supposed to stop the train before it left the station! You were going to bring out Vicky as the Real Eleanor, what happened to that plan?!”

He’d been less than a minute too late. From the moment Chidi had barged into his office, pleading for Eleanor’s rescue, he had hesitated a moment too long. Giving the impression that, of course, he wanted her to stay, but that it was out of his hands. And then Chidi had gone into a stupid speech about how she should be allowed to stay for at least _trying_ to be a good person. It was all nonsense. Humans never get better. They don’t just suddenly go from deserving to be tortured forever and then, the next moment, deserving of eternal happiness.

That wasn’t Michael’s concern. He didn’t give a crap whether Eleanor believed she deserved to be in the Good Place or if she was becoming more ethical.

She was _his_. His human. There was no question of where she belonged.

With him.

“Look, Mikey, my man.” Trevor tries to placate; “I know I went off script a little. But, trust me, you will thank me in the long run. After what I’ve done to her, she’s going to be trying harder than ever before to stay in your fake Good Place, and therefore be all the more reason for the other ones to suffer.”

His logic was undeniable. Michael had never expected Eleanor to choose of her own free will to admit to her false identity, let alone turn herself in to the Bad Place. Surely enough horrible images had been implied that anything was preferable? Especially the chance to live in the closest thing to Heaven itself she would know.

And yet she had thrown herself into the fire. To save Chidi. To save him.

It didn’t make a lick of sense. Chidi’s attempts at explaining how her ethics and morals improved fell on deaf demonic ears. He just hated losing control.

“Fine.” He relents, bitterly; “But never again, do you hear? This is _my_ experiment. My humans! No one messes with them without my go ahead. I wanted the fear of going to the Bad Place to be enough to torture Eleanor, that’s what it should have been!”

“Yawn! Boring.” Trevor mocks, “As if that would have been enough. Look at her skinny ass, man. I’ve achieved more with her through my torture than you could in a few months. Also, it was Shawn who gave me the thumbs up – and his word outranks yours, Mikey boy.”

He bristles at that, feeling as though Trevor has him, by the simple mention of Shawn’s name.

No. He doesn’t have full control. But Shawn is his boss. Trevor is just…a sadistic minion.

“My design was for the four humans to torture each other. Because of you, one of them can’t even speak.” Michael hisses; “What the here did you to her?”

Trevor laughs, beginning to saunter away; “Just gave her a taste of what's waiting for her once your experiment goes bust and she comes back here for good.”

“Such as?”

He needs to know. He needs to be aware what he’s working with if he needs to rebuild Eleanor. Make her suitable to be both torture victim and torturer herself. She had been so good at the latter, especially, before all this went to shit. Watching her send Chidi into a daily crisis and annoy Tahani had been a thrill to watch. She was as much of a devil as he was and he adored her for it.

What had Trevor done to turn her into an empty shell of a Shellstrop?

The other demon lights a cigarette and takes a drag, winking; before blowing smoke at Michael’s face;

“Everything.”

*

The train hasn’t moved. How long have they been waiting? She’s stupid to think that it’s ever going to leave this place.

Maybe it’s a trick. If she leaves now, tries to go back to her cell, maybe she’ll be rewarded.

Ha.

Ha ha.

No, that couldn’t be the case. There were no treats in Hell. No reprieve. No mercy.

One time her stomach had fallen in, concave, after so long without food. Trevor had waved fried shrimp, drenched in chili sauce, in front of her nose before proceeding to eat it in front of her. The smell had lingered for hours and it was the closest she had come to some form of pleasure here.

She’s starting to doubt that Michael will return when he finally reappears back in the carriage.

Her eyes focus on the pattern of the seat in front of her, her pupils following along each curve of its design, a sad little thrill after so long staring at plain, brown, blood-soaked walls. She feels the seat creak as Michael sits beside her. He doesn’t say a word.

Good.

Even with her tongue back in her mouth, it now feels like an unwanted weight. A burden of expectation. She knows that, before all this, she was someone who it was difficult to shut up. Someone who could mock and con and shout at the world until it let her win.

Now it’s as if she’s forgotten how the damn thing works.

Talking before meant pain. Shut the fuck up, ugly bitch. Each time you swear, I break another finger. Beg for more, go on, you know you love it.

The pattern on the seat becomes rushed sketches of her abuse as her fractured mind plays tricks on her.

Drip. Drip.

She gazes at her arms, the lacerations from before all sealed up and paved over. There’s no blood leaving her now. Why is it she can still hear it?

Drip. Drip. Stop it.

Finally, there’s the sound of the steam engine revving up. And then, slowly, movement.

Out.

Leaving.

“Here we go.” Her travel companion confirms, softly, “We’ll be there in no time.”

No time. She remembered the journey here feeling almost as long as her stay. She remembered scalding her hand on the door when she’d foolishly attempted to escape, to throw herself off mid journey. She remembered Trevor telling her to take her clothes off because they were about to catch on fire.

She remembers.

Eleanor takes a breath and turns to look out the window, ready to see this awful pit roll away from her. At least, for as long as she can be spared again. She can’t shake the fear that she’ll be back. They will come for her. She is theirs.

Drip.

His.

Drip.

Trevor waves at her from the platform. He then points to his lips and winks.

_Smile, baby._

_You’ll look so much prettier with a smile._

Eleanor screams and turns, clutching for Michael once more. She buries herself in his side and refuses to leave, even when the train has picked up speed. She won’t open her eyes. Under her breath, short and sharp, she begs and pleads for him to leave her alone. It doesn’t make the problem go away. Trevor’s unbridled glee was burned into her retinas. He’d branded himself on her brain and she highly doubted there was anything Michael or Janet could do to free her of him.

Her rescuer puts his arm around her quivering back, bringing her in close; “I’ve got you, Eleanor. Let’s go home.”

Michael’s long fingers curl, firm and secure, around her shoulder.

“I’ve got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork credited to the wonderful Star-Pepper (https://star-pepper.tumblr.com/).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Rape scene and descriptions of torture

What had once seemed like a house built for everything against what she was, now her cute, little, modern cottage felt like the most beautiful thing Eleanor had seen in her life. It was exactly as she’d treasured it in her mind, a vision of comfort she could try to escape to, when the only other thing left to know was pain.

The door opens and there they are. Her friends.

They look at her as if she’s the sun. Someone, most likely Tahani, has decorated the living room with balloons and ribbon. Chidi and Tahani cry out a ‘welcome home’, while Jason wishes her a happy birthday, to which Tahani cringes. Anyone would think it was her birthday. It’s all so beautiful, just the relief and affection shining from their eyes, is a more wonderful surprise party than anything she’s been given before.

It’s all too much and she’s struggling not to cry.

Then Chidi is there, moving in close. He reaches to hold her face. Dry her tears. He tells her how happy they are to have her back. She could kiss him right there. And she knows there’s a chance, the smallest chance and worth the risk, to be kissed back.

Before she can so much as lean in, there’s a sharp knock at the door.

Eleanor turns and, before she can say anything, a click, the door opens, there he is. Loose dark jacket, Dress Bench t-shirt, tight jeans, dark eyes flashing. The smile. Oh, no. Trevor. No, please, no.

“Not so fast, blondie!” Trevor says, strutting up close and grasping at her wrist; “You didn’t seriously think we were just gonna let you go, did you?”

She can’t speak, fear paralysing her every muscle, barely finding the energy to struggle out of his grip. For what appears on the surface to be a slim man, the demon inside carries enough strength to snap her like a pencil. She knows from experience.

This isn’t right. It’s not fair. She escaped, she’s free, she doesn’t want to go back.

“Tut, tut,” Trevor murmurs, “It seems as though you’ve already forgotten where you belong. How about I jog your memory? I’m sure your friends will love to see.”

No.

Eleanor falls to her knees, subdued from Trevor’s domineering presence, his hand pulsing out a shock as it holds onto her. He waves his hand in the air and the floating TV screen pops up. He adjusts the channel to surveillance footage of. Fork. Her cell. She whimpers and tugs on his hand, wanting to beg him not to do it.

Just take her back! He can have her! Do whatever he wants! Just don’t let them see!

She then hears Tahani gasp, hand flying over her mouth. Even Jason is lost for words. Eleanor keeps her head down, not wanting to see what it is their seeing, not really needing to. She’s lived it, in a sense. She’s died through it, over and over, until there was nothing left of her to save. A brief sideways glance lets her see a chained up, lost and humiliated whore, the property of inhumane creatures of darkness. The sounds of her own moans and screams are worse than the images themselves.

“You all see now why we took her, right? This really isn’t the place for a fleabag like her.” Trevor argues his case, his fingers curling in Eleanor’s hair as she kneels at his feet.

There’s something hard pressing against her temple as Trevor keeps her head close to his groin. No. Fork, no, not here. Her mouth almost moves, by instinct, ready to do what she needs to spare herself more harm. She can’t. Not in front of them.

But they’re already seeing it. They know what she is now.

Eleanor looks up at Chidi, hoping for succour, before a draft of cold washes over her. She looks down to see the t-shirt and jeans she had become used to wearing again gone, replaced with the skimpy, stained rags from her cell, her hair as much of a recently-fucked-to-next-week mess as it was in the video playing before them.

She reaches for her friends. They step back.

Chidi…

He can’t even look at her. He’s not shocked or angry. Just. Disappointed. He nods in agreement at Trevor’s words. Eleanor’s heart plummets.

“Guys-.”

Her tongue dissolves in her mouth.

“Quiet now, sugar lips.” Trevor hauls her up by her hair, twisting it around, his lips uncomfortably close to her face; “This was only the beginning. I told you what would happen if you tried to get away, if you tried to resist. You belong to me, Eleanor. You’re my toy to do with as I please, forever and ever and ever, the forking end.”

Her friends fall away, along with her adorable house where she’d been blessed with a moment of safety, now hurtling downwards as the devil drags her back to Hell.

*

A screech of grinding metal jerks her awake. Her cell door must be opening. He sometimes likes to make it slow, ensure the grating noise drags out, giving her time to sweat. He knows how to make an entrance.

Before her eyes open, she knows something is wrong. Her wrists are not burning from a razor-sharp bind. She’s been allowed to lean against something as she rests. Something warm. Not hot or scalding. A nice warm. She forgot that was a thing. Nice. Her feet are encased in something fluffy and whatever she’s been dressed in is miles preferable to what little they gave to cover her before. Despite the loud awakening, she tries to keep her eyes closed, wanting to savour what little bliss she’s found in this false start.

Then the most startling of surprises comes to her. She was asleep. They let her sleep.

The nightmare left her quivering but it was worth it for her body to get even the slightest recharge. And as the seconds dragged on between her door opening and whatever games Trevor has in store for today, she can make believe she’s somewhere safe.

“Eleanor.” A familiar voice whispers, so close; “We’re here.”

If Michael is here, then…

She opens her eyes, remembering the chair pattern that greets her gaze. She looks down, blinking, confused at how her rags have been replaced with bright, loose pyjamas complete with a pair of fluffy slippers. She shifts against what she’s been snuggled up against, looking up to find Michael’s face watching over her. It wasn’t a dream. He came for her. He took her away.

He strokes some of her hair from her face.

“You slept the whole way here. Made it a pretty dull ride for me, I’ll tell ya.” He smiles.

Sorry.

So sorry.

She remembers how long her journey had been on arrival. Blistering in the heat of a giant oven felt almost as painful as the torture she endured in the cell. It didn’t help that the Bad Place Express stopped at around two hundred empty stations on the way for no reason other than to let Eleanor writhe in the wheeled furnace.

Eleanor sits up, shuddering, glancing around the carriage. There’s a woman- no. Not a woman. Standing at the far end, hands clasped in front, her expression blank. Awaiting instruction. They’ve stopped moving. Is she back…?

She looks to her right, finding the window, afraid at first that Trevor’s face will be pressed against the glass.

No. Not this time.

Her eyes struggle to adjust to what looks to be a train station, swathed in darkness. Not like the other one. There’s no claustrophobic crowds or heavy smog or rats. Everything on the other side of the window seemed still. Silent. Where had they been going again? It wasn’t as though she had expected to leave so it didn’t seem important to listen.

“I had Janet make sure we arrived at night, so as not to draw too much attention.” Michael explains, reading her confusion.

Eleanor reaches to press her fingers to the glass. There are stars peeking through a gap between the platform roof and the nearby buildings. She counts them. Four. It’s enough to make her want to cry.

“Come on. I’ll walk you home.” Michael reaches for her hand on the window before she’s finished double counting.

Walk. Home.

Two words that were impossible enough on their own. Put together, they were a paradox.

Home was where Chidi was. Home was where Trevor had found her in the nightmare. It would be the first place he’d look for her. There was no defence, no security, in that pointed cottage to stop him from charging in to take her. And her friends. They would only need to take one look at her and they would know. How could she hope to explain herself? How could she promise to be better? She can’t even remember how to use her stupid tongue.

Michael tugs on her hand and she yelps, yanking it back, huddling herself against the window as she had in her cell. He looks at her, expression hardening for a brief moment, before he tries to reach out again.

“Eleanor, come now. We have to leave.”

She shakes her head, covering her face with her hands. She refuses.

If the Good Place is just somewhere where everyone can see how weak and broken and pathetic she is for eternity than she may as well have stayed where she is. At least there, she knew her place, and was accepted for it. She didn’t have to worry about being as good as everyone else. There was no where further she could fall in Hell.

She tries to voice her plea but all that comes out is an inaudible whimper.

Michael starts to look annoyed now and Eleanor pulls her legs up to her chest, defensively.

“Eleanor. We only have two options here. You get off and stay in the Good Place or go back to the Bad Place. Now, which will it be?”

He’s telling her what she already knows. What her whole situation has been from the moment she woke up in Michael’s office all those months ago. It feels like years to her now. Maybe it was.

It was no longer a difficult choice. If nothing else, Trevor did a good job of teaching her where she belongs. Those lessons will not be forgotten in a hurry. They’re in every flinch, every shudder, every gasp of pain, every cry of despair. He’s inside her like poison in the bloodstream. She can feel his moist fingers on her shoulder even though he’s nowhere to be seen.

Send her back. Get rid of the problem. She’d rather have to deal with the real Trevor than a spectre.

Eleanor holds up her hand, showing her thumb, before turning it downwards.

*

Okay. That was unexpected.

He had been going for the tough authoritarian approach. Give Eleanor a verbal kick in the butt to get off the train so he could take her back to her house. Then Chidi could take care of her, start the process of fixing her back up, getting their old Eleanor back and they can all get back to making each other miserable as they were supposed to. As Trevor pointed out, now more than ever, Eleanor had a reason to fight to keep herself in what she believed was the Good Place now that she had lived through the alternative. That was the plan.

Why wasn’t it working?

Fat, pearly tears roll down Eleanor’s cheeks as her thumb shakes, pointing downward. She wants to go back there? No, that’s not it. She believes she deserves to be there. She’s succumbed to Trevor’s conditioning via brutal torture. It’s no longer simply a case of her knowing she should be in the Bad Place. She’s lost the want to for it to no longer be true.

This is awful.

If Eleanor has no drive to stay here then what is the point? She was the driving force between all the four humans. Without her, the whole fourteen-million-point plan falls apart. Besides that, when the train had departed with her to the Bad Place before Michael could get to her in time, he had spent almost a week in a neighborhood without Eleanor. Trying to see Jason, Chidi and Tahani were enough to torture each other. It had been more than enough boredom for him to get Janet to immediately call a train to go get her back.

Eleanor made it fun. That was what she had taught him was important, after all.

She had tried to help him, purely to help herself, of course. That was why anyone helped anyone, really, wasn’t it. Otherwise, why bother? Eleanor had helped him to relax, blow off steam, pretended to be his friend. Then, when he faked his dejected break down, she had been at his side, promising to help him however he needed her. Hearing the sincerity in her voice had been what prompted Michael to make his big speech, knowing how it would torment his new ‘friend’, or at least drive Chidi to guilt her about it. He’d never expected everything to spiral as it did from that moment, when she was there for him.

Maybe. He needs to return the favor.

He turns to go to Janet, giving her new instructions. The train sets off again and he watches as Eleanor shrinks in on herself, no doubt believing that they’re going back the way they came. That he’s going to hand her back over to Trevor once again.

He contemplates telling her before deciding against it. Let her fret for a few more minutes.

She’s still supposed to be being tortured, after all.

*

There is no build up. No warning.

What had she expected? Dinner and a movie first? She’s such an idiot.

Her clothes disintegrated on the train, along with parts of her hair. Her body is charred and seeping with blisters as she’s dragged by two hefty demons out of the station, every step a hot stab, as they all jeer around her. A welcoming party. Things are thrown at her. Slime and muck. Shit, most likely, it would make sense.

By the time they get her to her cell and throw her inside, she’s already screaming as the muck mixes with her burn wounds. She didn’t know it was possible to be in this much pain.

She’s changed her mind. She doesn’t want to give up yet.

Let her go back. Let her call Michael. Let her beg. Please.

The door opens and Trevor is there, standing over her, radiating power. He doesn’t say a word. The hungry glint in his eye and the way he licks his lips is all the warning signs Eleanor is going to get. Despite her pain, she doesn’t give in. Not yet.

When he reaches down, she bites his hand, using the next free moment to crawl for the door while it’s still open. When she reaches it, it slams shut, the handle vanishing. She pounds, she claws, she screams. Trevor laughs.

He then pushes her against the locked door, spreading her legs with his feet and breathing heavily on her neck.

“Oh, El dog, honey,” He whispers, unbuttoning himself; “Thank you for putting up a fight. You know how to make an old demon hard, don’t ya.”

If that’s what gets him off then maybe it’s best she stays still, she reasons to herself.

“Fuck you.” She dares to whisper.

“No, sweetie. Fuck you.” He tugs her hair again, ripping a frazzled chunk out in one pull.

There’s no point fighting against a demon, especially in the state she’s in. It can’t be more painful than having just been burned alive. It’s just a fuck, she tells herself, closing her eyes as he finds his way inside of her, forcefully. She’s had bad fucks before. Many times. They can be made to work…No. Not this time.

He thrusts, dry and aching, inside of her and she bites down on her lip as the tears fall.

It’s just a fuck! Don’t cry! Don’t give him what he wants!

“There you are. There you are, trashy little bitch. Welcome home.” Trevor sneers, sniffing her neck, as he impales her. And it seems to go on and on and on. Demons last more than human males can only dream of.

This can’t be forever, she thinks, smothering her own whimpers. This can’t be it.

Help.

*

This time she wakes up in a bed, still feeling the ache between her legs. She squeezes her thighs together beneath the sheets, as if expecting him to come back. Her body is covered underneath a soft duvet, her head on a pillow which is only slightly less comfy than the dandy angel she had woken up against before.

The last thing she remembers is the train preparing to set off. Taking her back.

Either the living standards in Hell have improved or she was wrong. She must have fallen asleep just after it had started moving. If she’s in a bed then there’s no way she’s back in the Bad Place. She pats herself underneath the sheets. She's still wearing the pyjamas, that's unexpected. Nice things were not supposed to be for keeps. She feels underneath, to her skin, smooth and whole. If there are no wounds, no burns, no broken bones then she cannot be back there. Which means…

Eleanor sits bolt upright, a pant of Chidi’s name on her lips, hands gripping the duvet as the world comes into focus around her.

She didn’t want to go back! She told Michael, in as many words as her scream, that she didn’t want to see her friends like this!

Did he just force her back there anyway? Knock her out so she couldn’t protest?

Why was he so determined to keep her here? It had taken less than twenty minutes after her confession for him to summon someone from the Bad Place to collect her. If he really cared about her, he would have kept silent. Just like Chidi was willing to do, just as she did for Jason and Jason did for her, because they were friends. Or was it because they were human? Does Michael being an angel or Good Architect whatever mean he has to hold himself to a higher standard? Put all he cares about aside for the ‘greater good’?

If so, it begs the question again. Why did he bother saving her? What is she worth to him?

He knows what she is. She knows. Trevor knows.

Finally, her eyes adjust to the pale moonlight coming in from the window. A large glass wall that looks out onto a private beach. Dimly, she notices how the furniture in the room is different from her house, more wooden and nostalgic. She’s been here before. She remembers. A whole other lifetime ago.

It must be a dream then. A small respite from her mind before she wakes back up in her cell.

She hides back underneath the covers, curling herself as small as she can. The best part of this dream is that she’s still alone. Therefore, she can cry as loud as she wants and no one will beat her for it. Not yet. She’s got more than enough stored up.

*

He sets up a video call to the six employees he considers the closest thing to his deputy managers at this point. Vicky, Gale, Gunner, Glenn and a couple of others he hasn’t really bothered to learn the names of, they just always seem to be around when he needs them.

He uses his powers to shift the room to look like a Bad Place office. Grey and sterile. A Let Go Kitty fail-sessory poster tacked to the wall behind him.

“It’s still gonna be a while until I’m able to get back there. Just wanted to check in, see how my guys are doing. Hope you’re all having fun and I hope those humans of ours are having anything but!”

Vicky gives him a quick report on the little tortures they’ve been dealing out to the other three in his absence. She managed to arrive on the scene shortly after Eleanor left as the ‘real one’, ready for when ‘Fake Eleanor’ can go back to her old life only to find someone has replaced her. She’s already bonding with Chidi and Tahani, hoping to make them forget all about the fraud. There are some flaws in her plan and points he considers rather mediocre. He doesn’t say this. Not a good idea to poke the two-mouthed bears just yet.

He is deceiving them, after all. He doubts they would understand the task he’s decided to undertake. A solo mission. The most disturbing and daunting one he thinks he will ever have to undergo in his existence. But it had a purpose.

He had to… _care_ …for a human.

Even just thinking it clearly in his head makes him want to cringe. It was against his very nature. Against everything he had been taught since the dawn of time. It was one thing to pretend to be a caring, devoted Architect. That was partly true, as he was so devoted to his work, so it was an easier role to perform. But spending this much time with a human, one on one, having to see to their needs. Look after them. He had only managed to get through the day he spent with Eleanor before because he was surprised at how fun it ended up being, what a delight she was.

The games, he means.

He would do it. For the sake of the experiment. It was his mistake after all, not getting to the train in time, letting Trevor get his filthy hands on her. Rookie mistake, Michael.

There’s a broken wailing through the wall which makes his head turn. Eleanor?

“Sounds like everything is going good back there!” Gunner says, perking up at he sound of human misery; “Is that the new tarantula bras?”

“You got it. They’re so hairy.” Michael blusters with a laugh.

He quickly signs off, telling his people to get Janet to do whatever they need, until he gets back. He’s not sure when that is yet. He asked Janet how long it took for humans to get over major trauma and she replied with her usual least helpful response.

 _Unclear_.

She also left him a book on how to help care for a family member suffering from a severe breakdown. He’d skimmed through it, all a bunch of sentimental garbage, taking notes of the bare basics it offered. At least it wasn’t a cactus.

Michael restores the room to its natural state once the call is over.

He walks through the calm, spacious beach house that did not exist until a few hours ago, along with the serene shore itself. All of this area was created on a single remaining piece of unused data, adding a new environment beyond the mountains, miles from the town. It was highly unlikely that anyone would find them here. The only real access was flying and he’d already cancelled that, lucky for Eleanor. Lucky for both of them.

He pours himself a cup of anti-matter with salted caramel, leaning against the kitchen’s island surface. He can do this, he tells himself. Just think of it was a vacation with the odd working from home, coming up with future events and plans. It was odd to be alone again, everything feeling so quiet for the first time in months, the light from the moon he designed illuminating the living room.

Michael enjoyed working with other demons, even if they never understood him. He enjoyed being around humans, a group of them, getting joy out of how they interact and tease and push each other’s buttons. He supposes he would have to make do with binging nineties screwball comedies.

The wailing comes again. Violent, wrenching howls, like those of a wounded beast rather than a human. Korzoff had made less noise when one of his legs had got caught in the lava pit.

Michael had patched him up. Fed him treats. Petted all ten heads.

He highly doubted the exact same technique would have Eleanor back up and running.

Michael can’t stand doing nothing for too long and soon he’s moving towards her bedroom. He gives a soft knock but there’s no response. He carefully pushes the door open.

There’s a brief flicker of panic when he sees the bed is empty.

Is she…No. He can hear her. Crying.

Normally, that sound would be music to his ears. It was used as a lullaby in nurseries where he came from, if nurseries were a thing. It should have been nothing new. With Eleanor, everything was always new. Always different. Usually fun and fascinating. This was not. This was dark and worrying. He didn’t care for it one bit.

He puts down his anti-matter and moves around the bed, finding her curled up on the floor, huddled beneath the duvet she’s dragged with her off the bed. He peers around and can see from her face and movements she’s asleep. She seems to be catching up on a whole afterlife’s worth. She’d barely been awake ten minutes on the train before passing out again, leaving Michael to have to carry her inside the new house and put her to bed.

Should he pick her up again? Move her back onto the mattress? He doesn’t remember seeing an answer to this in that book.

Her crying cuts him as deep as Korzoff’s whimpers. In a way, he supposes, this is like caring for an injured pet. Humans are lower beings, way more so than spider-dogs. It was his responsibility to deal with them as instructed by fate. He only had four. But they were his. His to torture, his to punish, but also his to keep. To look after when something threatened them against his designs. Trevor had ruthlessly violated that right of ownership. He’d taken what was not his to take. His scent and marks were all over Eleanor.

His Eleanor.

Michael reaches forward and strokes her arm, giving it the smallest of squeezes, as she had shown him how to do when comforting a ‘friend’ at their lowest point. He’s not sure if she recognises it. It’s all he knows to do.

“I’m right here.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Rape, intimate non-sexual bathing scene

Fun fact. Certain breeds of demon are capable of multiple orgasms, in succession, with very little time needed to cool off in between. The skin suit a demon wore made no change to their sex drive.

This was lesson number one for Eleanor.

She spends the first few hours in the new cell being broken in in every orifice Trevor can find, until she doubts there is a part of her that hasn’t been speared by his cock. There is no lubricant. No preparation. The tighter, the dryer, the more friction there is, seems to turn him on even more. Maybe because it means the louder she’ll scream.

He likes that.

At first he’s all hands, grabbing and wrestling her to the ground or to the wall or smothered beneath him, laughing at the struggle. As if they were playing a dirty game of Twister. Then she gets in a punch to his cheek as he tries to claim her ass.

Trevor looks shocked, theatrically so, before he bursts into laughter.

“What a silly billy you are, kitten cat.” He mocks her, clapping his hands.

A pair of cable ties appear, binding her wrists together, then yanking her arms up above her head. She cries out as they attach to a rope, dangling from the ceiling, hauling her so her toes barely brush against the floor. She makes the mistake of wriggling and the ties slice into her, causing a spurt of blood to fall on the both of them.

Trevor catches the red liquid on his fingers and slurps them in his mouth, eyes closing, as if he’d found the secret special sauce.

“Say something pretty, Ellie baby,” he tells her; “And maybe Uncle Trevor will give you a pressy.”

*

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t considered outsourcing. He’d run through a list of candidates who would be more equipped to handle this than him. Chidi was the first to come to mind. The first problem there was that Eleanor was dead set about her friends not seeing her in this state. That also ruled out Tahani and, improbable as it was, Jason. He could have confided in at least one of his demons, offered them a bonus for their discretion, given them the role of a ‘nurse’ or support worker. But there wasn’t a single demon who he could trust not to rat him out and, also, not risk giving the game away by not taking care of Eleanor right. And last on the list was Janet. Janet who needed to be free to maintain the neighborhood and be available, as much as possible, for the requests of the demons as well as the humans. Janets were not omnipresent. He couldn’t have her constantly leaving Eleanor whenever someone needed a fresh pair of socks.

Also, despite knowing everything Michael wished he knew, Janet lacked the ability to put it all into practice, namely with a personal touch.

Sadly, that left him as the only feasible choice.

At first, it’s not too bad. Eleanor does little except sleep and cry, usually at the same time. He tries to offer some comfort at first, a gentle pat, a soft word or two. Every reaction is a flinch or a whimper. Hiding her face as if it will make herself invisible. It’s all rather tedious and doesn’t appear to make a difference. He tries to keep her from shuffling off the mattress onto the floor, even that seems like a lost cause. Eventually he decides to leave her to it. He’s got better things to do.

Watching reruns of Seinfeld has given him tons of inspiration for scenarios he can test out once he’s back to running the neighborhood. He can only imagine how hilarious they will be when put into practice, along with some original tweaks he can make, as his ‘characters’ are quite a bit different from Jerry and his friends. If anything, Michael realises with a chuckle, he is Jerry observing the chaos around him with suppressed glee.

It’s when he realises that he’s managed to get through a nearly whole season since he last checked on Eleanor that he enters her room again.

Dang. It smells.

He goes to kneel beside her bed, seeing that she’s awake, though her eyes are distant and dilated. They don’t register Michael until he starts to speak.

“You should have a bath. Or a shower?”

She’s not good with choices, as is. He's discovered that the quickest results come from a firm but gentle command rather than waiting for her to decide for herself. But it’s the latter which causes her to shake her head and shudder violently. Michael sighs. Acid showers were rather common in the Bad Place.

“Bath then. How about I draw one for you?”

He produces a pen from his pocket, then proceeds to sketch the image of a bubble filled claw-foot tub in the air which then magically appears at the foot of her bed. He smiles at the blank face staring at it.

To be fair, he doubts a normal Eleanor would have laughed at that either.

“Do you need help getting in?”

He knows it’s a stupid question. It seems only right that he ask it, just to check, rather than make assumptions which could easily gave him losing any potential of Eleanor’s trust. Her eyes gaze with a mixture of suspicion and want at the hot bath, ready and waiting for her. Her hands are clenched into fists in front of her chest. She hasn’t walked or talked since he got her out. She’s been hunkering beneath her duvet as if it were a fortress of solitude.

He highly doubts that she’s forgotten how to function as a normal person, nor that she’s lost any desire to, merely that she’s too paralysed with fear after having the want for freedom or independence lashed out of her.

“Come here. Let me.” He very carefully begins to undress her, cautiously waiting for her to lift her arms before he can remove her t-shirt.

It takes a moment, her eyebrows frowning at first, before she gets that this isn’t what she’s terrified of it becoming. She relents, lifting her arms slightly, then her hips when Michael helps take the pyjama bottoms off her legs.

It’s only then that he sees, in the light of the sunset streaming in from the view outside, the scars.

Physically, on the surface, her skin is as smooth and unblemished as it was the day she was born. No human examining her would see any indication that she had been the victim of multiple, gruesome attacks and assaults, the likes of wish no living mortal would be able to survive - not a problem when you’re already dead and pain can be infinite. Michael, however, sees what is visible in the sixth dimension of her corporeal form.

It’s a bit like slicing an onion in half to get a look at all the layers still together. He can see each and every wound, every bruise, every break and tear, that Trevor inflicted. One on top of the other that had barely begun to heal. Janet might have been able to clean it all up, like an eraser on a chalk board, but the imprint was as deep as ever.

Eleanor’s sits still, palms pressed on the mattress in front of her bent legs, eyes down and avoiding Michael’s. Her breath is bated, short with anticipation, as if waiting for Michael to…

Fork.

He feels his throat go dry and he quickly reaches forward, gathering Eleanor up into his arms.

“You’ll feel much better after you’ve had a wash.” He lies to her, as he knows it’s something humans say and it makes no sense. Most mammals were happier rolling in the dirt.

He’s very slow, lowering her in, her fingers digging into the back of his neck. Ow. She only lets go when her skin meets the water and she accepts, with a gasp, it won’t melt it off.

She draws her knees to her chest, her current preferred method of sitting, covering her breasts a little. Not that Michael was caring to look. Even if he was the slightest bit into humans, he can’t imagine anything less attractive than the current situation. His essence was still pulsing with fury from the sight of Eleanor’s scar history.

He picks up the sponge and starts to, carefully, dab the woman’s skin. He hopes she will give some sign when, or if, he reaches somewhere she’d prefer he stray from.

“There you are.” Michael smiles, running the sponge gently over her face, “I was beginning to think I’d lost you underneath that mess.”

He knows someone had said that to her once. Someone connected to this new house he had built for her. It had made her smile at the time. Present Eleanor’s mouth twitches, recognising something, before it fades.

She gazes down at the water. Her hands start to move of their own will, slowly motioning beneath the surface.

Michael watches as she brings up a small section of water in a bowl formed by her hands.

She stares at it for a time. Her reflection, maybe? Can she even recognise herself? He barely does and he knows everything there is to know about Eleanor Shellstrop. He says nothing, massaging the sponge down her back, moving no lower than the base of her spine before working around her hips.

Eleanor then brings the water to her lips and sups at it, practically slapping herself in the face.

Michael drops the sponge.

He stands up, bringing his palm to his forehead; “Fork, Mikey! Darn it! How could I forget…? Water, hydrate, that’s like…step one!”

Eleanor shudders at his tone, looking as if she expects to be hit.

No. He’s the one that messed up. Too busy watching stupid sitcoms to remember the basic element of human needs. Keeping their stupid, fragile, moist bodies from shrivelling into prunes. It explained how raspy Eleanor’s breathing had been. It was a wonder she hadn’t made more of an effort to find some. Not that it would have ‘killed’ her. But, yikes, her throat must be like sandpaper right now.

Michael pats her wet shoulder.

“Er…my bad.” He weakly apologises, “I’ll be right back with some ice water. What you’re basically drinking now is a soup made from yourself which I wouldn’t recommend.”

He leaves, knowing he’ll only be a minute, assured she won’t have the strength to climb out on her own. Stupid Eleanor, not letting him know she was thirsty. Stupid Janet not reminding him of the simplest things.

Stupid, stupid Michael.

*

Watching the mounds of bubbles ebb around her, she thinks this dream is beginning to get weird. It had come as something of a relief at first, a quiet escape from her prison. There had been that first dream, the one that fooled her into believing for the cruellest of minutes, that she had been rescued. And then that she was about to be paraded in front of her friends for the battered sex-toy she had become. They had been nasty dreams. What followed after had been quiet. Sometimes drenched in sombre moonlight, other times blinded by the harsh rays of the sun. But always quiet. Always still.

Always lonely.

There had been a presence hovering over her, rather a lot to start with. Hands laid on her. Gentle. Not holding down. A voice came and went, telling her he was there, feeding her lies. Such as, it’s okay now, and, you’re safe. She had been too afraid to respond. Mostly because she couldn’t. She knew better than to speak, even if she could remember how.

Eventually she had come to repeatedly wake up alone. Even when the cries left her body, hands cradling her own shoulders, the presence. Michael. Hadn’t returned.

What was worse than all of it was that she couldn’t work out if she felt safer when he wasn’t around.

Michael had always installed some form of terror in her. Not because of who he was. Kind, neurotic, socially awkward, harmless and bumbling. A sweet old dork, she had once referred to him in her head. Yet, despite his appearance, he often times seemed both far older and also much, much younger. The brief time she had spent with him, getting him out of his shell, had introduced her to a man in desperate need of a teenage Spring Break.

No, it wasn’t who he was that scared her. It was what he was. The power and control he had over her fate. With a simple press of a button, he had summoned a literal demon to take her to eternal damnation. He had played judge, jury and exiler. He held her soul in his hands and, with an apathetic wave, he could doom her forever. Not because he was wicked. Because he was Good. And sending Bad people to the Bad Place was the Good thing to do.

Apparently.

Eleanor knows that, at any second, he could decide to give up on her again. She still can’t work out why he got her back in the first place, if this is real, given the trouble she caused, given what he must see on her now. She’s tainted. She always was. She already pissed him off by refusing to go home once. Now he’s decided to keep her here, out of the way, preparing her for who knows what.

Drip. Drip.

It feels so nice. It will end. Nice things always do. Either he’s cleaning her up, fresh and new, before she’s sent back…

Or something far more ridiculous and impossible.

In which case, he’ll quit. He’ll decide to throw the towel in and send her back, as it makes no sense to keep her here, even if she’s no longer around the others, unable to contaminate the majority of paradise. Michael has already proven to her how little any potential friendship between them means. Not enough to stop them from taking her. She can’t begrudge him for that. She was never worth saving in the first place.

Her fingers glide across the tiny bubbles resting on the water. She watches the ripples form from the droplets escaping the loose tap.

Drip. Drip.

The air feels so heavy. The water both too warm and not hot enough. It's intoxicating, making her feel exhausted, when she's done fork all for the past couple of days. She leans her head back against the ceramic and lets out a breath. How long had she been holding it in for? How long could she manage to? Would her lungs explode? They hadn’t tried that one out. If she suggested it to Trevor, would he give her a sweet?

Eleanor smiles, a mad woman's smile, sinking her head below the surface.

*

He decides that ruby red is her color. It’s the seventh one he tries out on her, almost going with jet black.

Trevor smooths the lipstick over her mouth, unable to make it even, considering how broken her jaw is. Her lips resemble more of an oblong shape than an ‘O’. When finished, he encourages her to purse them, which is clearly impossible. She can’t even close her mouth.

“’Said you had a pretty smile.” He says, softly, moving his hands down her hips.

He’s forced her into a black cocktail dress that barely makes its way halfway down her thighs. It may as well be lingerie. It’s not like she’s got anything on underneath. Easy access, he calls it. She has scarlet heels on her feet to match her lips. Her feet are bruised, toes twisted, but she has to stand upright. Perfect.

There’s a mirror in the room now. He likes her to look at herself when he dresses her up special.

Her hair has been garishly permed, her natural blond brightened to the point it almost looks like a wig. Make-up was applied, the kind not properly tested, causing her eyelids to sting and her cheeks to itch terribly. She dare not scratch. Her false nails looked sharp enough to flay herself with if she wasn’t careful.

“This is definitely more your style, honey. Not those pastel sweaters and cute little homegirl tops.” Trevor cups his hands beneath her breast; “Such sweet titties you have here. They deserve to be shown off. Don’t ever hide your best assets. It’s not like you’ve got the brains to compensate.”

She wants to spit in his face. She wants to scream what she thinks of him.

In another life, another existence, she wouldn’t have hesitated.

Fuck…So tired…

Just let him do what he wants. Then maybe she will find the strength to fight another day. This one is only the first and she has no idea if it’s close to being over. Her head begins to roll and she staggers on wobbling knees. She knows if she falls then it will be much worse for her. Stand tall. Look pretty. Be a good girl.

“Baby tired?” he tilts his head.

Eleanor exhales. Then nods.

“Awww.” Trevor runs a hand over her starch-infused hair; “You’ve done so well. Been a real pro. Now. On your knees, whore-biscuit. Give me what I want…and I may be nice.”

May.

Eleanor relishes the excuse to no longer have to balance on these damn heels she had once mastered so effortlessly. She bends her aching knees and gets down to the floor, ready to curl up, ready to give in. Just a little rest. Please. Her eyes are damp, there’s snot under her nose, all sorts of disgusting fluid caked on her that has yet to be cleaned off. She knows she stinks. She looks a state. She doesn’t need the mirror.

He fills her mouth up before she can even wet her lips. Her mouth is too broken for her to work it herself. Trevor doesn’t care. A hole is a hole. That’s all she is to him.

Her eyes close, lashes beating against the wetness.

“Every tear you shed, slut, I last an extra minute. Keep ‘em coming.” Trevor warns her. Of course, crying gets him off even more. What doesn’t?

It becomes too much to cry in the end, as she moans in pain, choking as he thrusts himself to the back of her throat. The back of her skull will crack if he’s not careful. She’s going to gag. She’s going to suffocate.

Fuck. Stop.

*

The air returns to her lungs, sharp and violent. The light is so bright when she opens her eyes that it almost feels like she’s about to be blinded again. Her hands flail, grasping for something, anything. Solid. She ends up splashing and kicking like a wild dog, struggling against the hands that yanked her out of the shallow abyss.

The hands are firm, holding her upright, trying to still her. She bares her teeth, an air of fight from long ago rearing its head, angry that anyone dared to bring her back from what escape she had hoped to find. Then her vision fixes. The water clears from her eardrums and the wordless noises echoing around her become coherent.

“What were you thinking?! Dumb little human, can’t I leave you alone for a minute?!”

The fight, ironically, runs away from her. There’s anger in Michael’s eyes. In his voice.

She doesn’t remember ever hearing him speak like that. She must have gone too far.

A whimper escapes her and she hugs her knees to her chest again, looking away. There is no answer she can give. She would agree if she could. She is dumb. She is useless. Only good for one thing and she’s not sure Michael wants to take advantage of that. He would have tried already…unless he’s working his way up. It wouldn’t seem like him but, then, she barely knows what he is, let alone who.

Michael's softens, the frustration dimming to gentle concern in his eyes, back to normal, letting out a sigh. He starts to rub her back, helping Eleanor control her own breathing.

“I think that's enough bath time for tonight.” 

*

If nothing else, today had been the most eventful so far. It was hardly saying much.

He sits on the sofa with Eleanor, watching her cocoon herself in the large towel he’d swaddled her in immediately after plucking her from the bath. Once upon a time, he had tortured parents for having left their infants alone in bathtubs, letting them drown in tubs of salt until their mouths bled. It seemed rather hypocritical of him now. Fork, he hadn’t expected her to be that helpless.

Or had it been intentional? Had she pushed herself there on purpose?

He doesn’t try to get an answer out of her. He knows it will be a while until talking is an option. For now he sits and watches her, wondering what she’s seeing as she stares across at the ring left on the coffee table from his cup of antimatter. He reminds himself not to leave a cup near her or it might turn her inside out.

Michael puts the glass of ice water to her lips, letting her sup at it. She gurgles, roughly, at first, finding it so refreshing that she wants to down it in one go.

“The water’s not going to disappear, Eleanor,” he tells her, helping her to drink.

He still can’t believe he made such a silly mistake.

“You must be hungry, too.” He realizes. Water plus food, happens to be very important for humans; “Would you like to eat?”

She makes a grimacing face behind the glass.

“What about your favourite? A shrimp cocktail? I can have Janet whip you up one like-.”

Eleanor shakes her head, eyes screwing up tight. She doesn’t want shrimp?! Now Michael knows how serious this is.

Forking Trevor. He must have used something she loved against her as torture. Shrimp, of all things, who would be so… Okay, maybe Michael was the pot calling the kettle black, but he had never gone so far as to put Eleanor off her favourite snack. That was just mean.

He wants to shake her by the shoulders, wanting to wake her up, bring back the girl he knew, the girl who could talk for all of Arizona. All he wants is to know what darn food she wants!

Eventually, he manages to get some toast down her. Simple. Basic.

He puts the plate on her lap and he watches as her eyes gaze down, lips parted, clearly starving. But her hands seemed to disobey whatever want she had for food. Michael quickly realises, with awkward discomfort, he'll have to put the food to her lips as if she's nothing but a helpless baby bird. He does so, gently coaxing her to eat. After a minute of uncertainty, she opens her mouth, accepting it with wide, frightened eyes.

Small steps.

Very soon, she’s asleep once more, curled against the armrest. Always sleeping. If she’s not careful, she’ll snooze her whole afterlife away. Had it just been the case that she had fallen asleep in the bath? It wasn’t like she would have drowned, but it would have been awkward and painful if her lungs had been allowed to fill with water and her brain cut off from oxygen. He would have been left with a comatose inflatable human. The one thing possibly worse than what he was already dealing with. Not knowing Eleanor’s motive scares him a little. How far gone is she?

Her hair is damp, unwashed properly. It can be done another day. Michael dresses her in fresh PJs while she’s asleep and covers her up with a blanket. It’s too much for him to look at the scars again. He takes note of how she always sleeps with her arms folded, protectively, over her chest, fingers curling against her shoulders.

He picks the empty glass up only for it to crack in his grip. He gathers up the shards, watching how they cut deep into the skin of his human suit without drawing a single drop of blood.

Forking Trevor.

*

Her eyes peek open at the sound of broken glass. He doesn’t see her, his back turned in her direction. She notices how he hurts himself as he cleans up the mess. She expects anger but can only see upset. The hand he cut had pulled her out from a watery grave of her own making. Those hands had been carrying her worthless butt around for the past few days. Eleanor never wanted those hands to get hurt. Not for her.

Michael is too far away from her, exiting the room to dispose of the glass, by the time Eleanor’s aching mouth has rolled and uttered the weakest of guttural sounds. The most pathetic attempt at speech.

_s-sor'y._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: rape, forced oral sex, teeth pulling, orgasm control. Yeah, there's a lot of dark stuff in this one, brace yourselves.

He presses the ‘record’ button on his audio equipment.

“Okay, Day Sixteen.” Michael begins his daily journal; “Over two weeks in and I think, finally, we’re starting to make some progress. Eleanor is managing to keep awake for most of the day. Still no talking or much action besides staring at the TV screen. Janet wasn’t available for breakfast this morning, no doubt the other residents are using up her bandwidth, so I tried making some waffles. Ended up making pancakes with holes in them but she didn’t seem to mind, not that she’d tell me otherwise. I might try watching one of those YouTube tutorials tomorrow. Note to self, start a separate cooking journal.”

He always finds it helpful to record his thoughts when on a new project. He made sure his office in the house was soundproof, the door always locked, just in case. Can’t take any chances. It’s easier to keep up a false persona when he only occasionally has to run into the humans, not be around one, day in day out.

It also feels good to be able to speak aloud, even if it is to himself, considering what a verbal brick wall his housemate is. Given the secrets he hides.

“Given that I have no idea how long this recovery will take, I’ve had Janet adjust the time stream between this section and the rest of the neighborhood. As far as my team are aware, my first call to them from Bad Place HQ was yesterday, rather than a fortnight. Fingers crossed, to them and the other humans, it won’t seem as though Eleanor and I have been absent for more than around ten days, at most, when we return. When Eleanor is fit to be tortured again...”

He says the last part more quiet than usual. He knows it’s impossible for Eleanor to be able to listen in. It’s more that it makes him feel uncomfortable to say it aloud.

“No. Not just that. She _is_ being tortured, mentally, just as I intended, so we’re all good on that front. It’s more so that she can get back to torturing the others. Not that I don’t have faith in my guys to be the best pieces of shirts they can be but we all know Eleanor is the key to all this. We need her at the top of her game to make everyone else miserable. I know when the Boss sees the final results, he’ll understand how we can truly renovate the Bad Place. And, best of all, I can wipe the smirk of that shirthead Trevor’s face once and for all.”

The demon who had been a mildly annoying former colleague now occupied his thoughts more often than Michael liked. If Eleanor was asleep on the couch, the TV on mute, Michael found that picturing all the ways he could eviscerate Trevor was a thrilling way to pass the time. And he had more than enough of that right now.

Once his work log is complete, Michael picks up his guitar.

The machine continues to record, reels turning round and round.

“Now, moving onto more important stuff, I really feel like I need to tweak the chorus a little. Maybe it should be ‘freaky crystal train’ instead of ‘purple’?” He ponders, plucking at the E string.

*

Eleanor stares at the screen, not really paying attention to whatever is on, just seeing a bunch of blurry shapes and noises that don’t mean anything, that aren’t worth getting attached to. She still exists in a haze of reality, at the very least having accepted this isn’t a dream. Not that it mattered. It would end just the same as any dream would and she would wake up where she knows she belongs.

She stretches her fingers out beneath the fluffy blanket that is her constant companion. Sometimes she finds herself double checking that all of her joints are in working order. That all of her digits are there on her hands and feet. Bites her lip to check her teeth exist. She never appreciated them enough before.

Michael prefers to keep her on the sofa in the living room most of the time rather than shut away in her bedroom. He likes her to be where he can keep an eye on her. He probably suspects that she’ll hurt herself if she’s left alone for too long, like the time in the bath. Had she tried to push herself underneath? She doesn’t clearly recall. Her head had felt so dizzy from the heat and anxiety that it was as if she slipped down and forgot how to pull herself up. Or maybe didn’t care.

If she was a waterlogged vegetable then, if nothing else, she wouldn’t be aware of anything Trevor had planned for her once he got her back.

He will get her back. He promised her.

Michael has barely left her side since the bath indecent. He sits with her on the sofa, watching TV, reading or busying himself in the kitchen. He talks to her constantly about little things, bouncing ideas for how to make the Good Place better off of her, or pointing out the plot holes in Lost. Sometimes he will leave a pause and look at her, as if hoping for a response, a conversation, and she hates that all she can give him is silent indifference. Even when he puts her to bed at night, he stays by her side, stops her from rolling out onto the hard floor until she no longer bothers.

His voice has become part of her daily subsistence along with food, warm blankets and a bath. Even though her brain often tunes out to catching all the words he says and their meaning, the sound of his gentle speech is so soothing. Like white noise lulling her into a state of almost contentment. Most nights she will try to stay awake just to sit with him and listen.

The only time he leaves her alone is when he goes into his office to work and he’s barely there for long. Eleanor knows she must be driving him mad. She feels guilty for taking him away from his workplace and the humans he loves. She wants to ask why he is bothering with her. When he talked to her about how much he adored working with humans, making them happy, he most likely never had this in mind. It wasn’t fair.

The pancakes-slash-waffles were so nice. Tears had sprung to her eyes and Michael assumed she disliked them, so she hurried to finish them, syrup dripping around her lips. She had been sticking to the blandest, most basic food, testing her gag reflex. It was overwhelming to have something sweet.

_Say thank you, hoe bag._

And she almost had, shuffling close to Michael when he took her empty plate. She had reached out her hand to his shirt and fondled at the buttons, pursing her lips, ready to show how grateful she was, just as she had been trained. Michael had gripped her hand in his, meeting her gaze.

“You’re welcome, Eleanor.” He said, rather sternly. As if he knew.

He must know.

He’d placed her hand back in her own lap and taken the plates to the sink, leaving Eleanor feeling stupid and embarrassed. This is what she had been reduced to. Unable to walk, unable to talk, unable to show gratitude or attempt to please someone in a non-intrusive, non-sexual way. She felt filthy as sin. She supposes that was the point.

When she stretches her legs beneath the blanket, she knows that, if she concentrated, she could stand on them again. Find her balance. That’s not the point. It’s not a matter of ability. Even when she finds herself contemplating it, her eyes then dart around the room, making sure no one is catching her out. What if this is all a trick to get her to slip up? What if Trevor is watching from a secret camera?

What if Michael is really…?

No. No, that’s stupid. She wishes she could give Michael the trust he deserved, considering all he did for her. It’s just that, no matter what kindness he showed her, whenever she closed her eyes, all that came to her was the look of hurt and disappointment on his face when she had stood up in the crowd to spare Chidi from his ethical dilemma. The look that had told her exactly what was to come.

She wishes Michael would give her orders. Let her know exactly what it is he wants from her. Eleanor has become well trained at following orders. Being a good girl. She won’t be a sneaky sneak anymore. She won’t try to be clever.

Dumb bench. Stupid whore. She’ll do as she’s told. Honest.

*

“Time to play.”

He claps his hands and the shoes he put her in move forward against her will. She tries to wriggle out. The straps clench around her feet so tight that they bite.

They make her stand in front of Trevor and then force her legs apart.

Hands bound behind her back, she’s completely helpless, unable to stop her captor from rolling up her dress and sliding his fingers into her.

“Knew I could make you wet. Horny little bitch, aren’t we.” He teases and she wants to snap that it’s not her liquid. He was inside her less than an hour ago and the coating of sweat and semen never seems to dry out on her.

Then, out of nowhere, he’s moving against all the right spots. Oh. Fuck, shit. She clenches her teeth. She doesn’t want to ever enjoy…She won’t…

It’s worse when he pinches her nipples through the thin velvet of the dress.

“Such a pretty whore. Do what you’re good for. C’mon now. You know not to make me mad, right?”

Eleanor nods. She knows. Fuck, she knows, after an hour of having her fingernails pulled out.

At least this, as awful and scarring as it is, is something she can have some tiny semblance of control over. Of agency. She starts to move against his hand, letting him work her up, the muscles in her thighs starting to spasm with want.

“P-please…” she croaks out, so close already, desperate for a moment of bliss after a world of agony.

He laughs and pulls out before she can hope to come, leaving her shuddering, tears pouring down her face. She can’t hope to reach herself. Is he just going to leave it…?

Trevor puts his right leg forward.

“Finish yourself off.” He offers her; “Go on. Good bitches deserve rewards.”

She hates herself for it. She hates how desperate he’s made her.

She falls to her knees and shuffles to slide her legs around his denim-clad knee and dry rut him, her tender labia finding what thrill it can, rubbing against the material. Trevor doesn’t move. Only watches. She refuses to look up and see his smirk. Finally, with the smallest and most shameful cry, she finds her release. As much as he will allow.

It’s not pleasure. It’s past the point of sickly over-indulgence. Her body is wracked with a sense of shame and self-loathing. Utter humiliation.

“You’re to do that every time I come in. It’s how you’re gonna say hello to me now. Show me you care. You do care. Don’t you, pretty pet?”

Eleanor nods, vehemently, still curled around his knee. What is she? Fuck.

She keeps to her word, frightened of the consequences otherwise. When he enters the room, if she’s not strung up, she crawls over on all fours, sliding her legs around his ankles, grinding against his knee. Sometimes he says nothing and lets her get on with it, rarely letting her finish, usually kicking her off against the wall. Sometimes he steps on her hand before she’s even near him and sets her up for something else. Sometimes he orders her to stop and to focus on ‘him’ instead, guiding her mouth to his crotch. His needs come first.

What’s important is that she does it. Every time. She remembers. She knows her place.

It’s never enjoyable.

*

Another day, another of their routines flies by. Michael wakes her up in the morning, sitting and stroking her hair as he talks until she raises her arms for him, he carries her to the sofa for breakfast on her lap, then leaves her to watch TV while he goes into his office for ‘work’, before coming out and sitting with her again, then lunch, Eleanor’s nap, Michael checks in with Janet, watches Everybody Loves Raymond for torture-spiration – that Marie is worse than any demon - then Eleanor wakes for dinner, then her bath and then, depending on how tired she is, more time on the sofa or straight to bed.

Most nights she likes to stay up, eyelids fighting sleep, her hands clinging onto Michael after he’s dried her down and helped her get ready for bed. She’s starting to help herself more now, putting on and taking her own clothes off, after days of Michael encouraging her it was allowed. There’s no way she can like being infantilised like this, having all her independence stripped from her. He doesn’t enjoy it any more than she does, and he feels the smallest swell of pride whenever she tries to do the simplest act of self-reliance like unbutton her own shirt or wash herself with the sponge.

They’re getting there. He’s sure of it. C’mon, Eleanor.

She sits on the floor one evening, after an uneventful bath, docile as Michael brushes and dries her hair. Another new skill he’s had to pick up on. It’s not something he ever expected to learn but, a few more videos, he might be able to master curling irons if she ever wanted something special. He could wait for a moment Janet is free for her to instantly make it dry, but the ritual seems to relax Eleanor. Maybe a bit too much, in tonight’s case, her head rolling forward and then jerking up before drooping again.

Michael rubs her shoulders; “Early night for you, mi’lady.”

Eleanor shakes her head, mewling in disagreement. He knows that she likes sitting up with him for a few minutes each night until she falls asleep on the sofa. Michael cannot fathom what she gets out of it. There’s never any excitement or interest showing on her face as he tells her about several different ideas he had for the neighborhood before deciding on the current one, still debating if a Western theme would have been better.

It seems disruptive and pointless to take her to the sofa when she looks ready to fall asleep in the next twenty seconds. He picks her up, moving her arms around his shoulders, her head lolling against his chest. She must be shattered. He tries to work out what it is she does during the day that he doesn’t witness to make her so exhausted. Is it purely mental? What is going on in that head of hers?

It must be the answer. Because Michael doesn’t even need sleep and he finds this all forking exhausting. He’ll endure it, for the sake of the experiment, he’ll carry and bathe and feed in order to care for the human he neglected. He cares for Eleanor, of course he does. In a completely detached, scientific way, of course. She was vital to his plan, to his innovative design, his potential promotion and honoring.

He wishes he had some idea for how to push this all along. All he wants is a spark of recognition, to see that Arizona spirit rise like its titular Phoenix. To hear a word. To make a choice without it being offered.

Michael shifts his charge in his arms, working his way over to the bed. She always shudders a little after her bath but it usually calms while her hair is dried. Now she continues to shake, almost violently, as if she’s about to launch into a fit.

He gazes down at her, worried, watching her half-asleep face contort with fury. And then, something happens. A word leaves Eleanor’s lips that both thrills and shocks him.

“F-FORK!”

*

It’s unclear what exactly triggers it. There is no final straw to break her back.

Trevor is fucking her mouth again. His fingers clutching a fistful of her hair as he rocks into her. He’s already come twice, filling her throat, the vile demon sperm dribbling from her lips as she’s forced to swallow the rest. It tastes wrong, worse than any dude’s she’s had before. The stench is enough to make her wretch, like week old milk left out in the sun. She doesn’t want to test what his limit is before he’s sated.

She’s been on her knees for so long they are red raw, skin worn down, her feet numb. Perhaps he’s going for the record of how long he can keep it in her. Maybe he has a bet going with the other twisted fucks here.

It almost becomes boring. Enough for her to, if nothing else, let her mind fade elsewhere while she abandons her body to be subjected.

He must notice the look in her eyes when he starts to talk.

“I see you looking at that door, dumb dumb.” He taunts her, “You still expect someone to charge in and rescue you? C’mon, you’re not that naïve. Who’s gonna come for you, hmm?”

Eleanor breathes through her nose. She won’t look at him. She won’t give him the satisfaction of a response.

Has she been looking at the door? She’s not sure if it was subconsciously or not.

Was there a chance that…?

“Think about it, Shellstrop! Your little bosom buddies, that Cheetoh nerd you were making heart eyes at, how exactly would they be able to get into Hell to save you? Me and my guys would squish them like ants and burn them on a rack the second they tried. I kinda hope they do. That Tahani has an ass that is dying to be branded with my name on it. Oww-yeah!”

That’s when it starts. When Eleanor feels something tug in her head. A seam being pulled in two.

Keep quiet. Let him carry on. He will get bored soon.

“And that Jason is such a sweet pea, isn’t he? He’s like brain-damaged puppy. I wonder how fun it would be to rip his eyes out and make him play catch.” Trevor laughs, working himself up to go faster.

Shut up, you basic fuck. Just shut up.

“Or is it Michael that you’re waiting for? That sad old windbag is probably too busy whimpering over his failed first try. Those Good Place bosses show no mercy. Irony, ey, ain’t it a doozy? He’s probably been retired already. I bet if you listen closely tonight, when you’re tucked up in your chains, you’ll hear his screams echoing from those billions of suns!”

It’s not true. All of this would have been for nothing if Michael had been retired anyway. Then there’s her friends. What happens to them if the Architect is punished? Will the neighborhood still be there? What if it’s all just…erased as a cover up? Her heart pounds, anxious, almost forgetting about the cock in her mouth.

Trevor sniggers some more and pinches her nose, tight.

“I’m only joshing, Ellie baby. The reason Michael won’t come is ‘cause he couldn’t wait to get rid of you. I mean, wow, he barely even put up a fight, did he?” He jeers as she struggles to breath around his girth; “I bet he’d been itching all the time for a reason to toss your ass out. Wished he could walk away and never look back. Just like every other failed father figure you’ve been horny for all your sad life.”

Palms on the floor. They tense up, nails digging into the ground. A tigress ready to pounce. Just give her a fucking reason.

“You don’t have to worry anymore, Princess. I’mma yo Daddy now.”

And there it is.

She snaps. She growls, teeth biting down hard on his flesh, claw like fingers going for his hips. Tear it off. Take away his weapon of choice. Make the sick piece of shit cry like a bitch for a once.

She’ll bear the awful taste, the texture, just for this one victory.

All she manages to ‘win’ is a gasp of surprise, then her head being yanked backwards by his hand. She doesn’t manage to take him with her. The look on his face is one of surprise and entertainment. She glowers back, wishing it was blood dripping from her chin, instead of his demon spunk. She knows she must look like a wild animal. It’s how she feels.

“Helloooo, Beasty!” Trevor cheers, his eyes sparkling with childlike joy; “I wasn’t sure we were gonna see you try to put up a fight again. Mikey was right. You are full of surprises.”

She’s too angry for a comeback. Fuming away, waiting for the next moment to strike.

He tilts his head; “But you know what happens to dangerous animals in a pen, Eleanor. They gotta be declawed.”

With a tell-tale clap, he binds her hands again, this time with her wrists to her ankles. She tries, pointlessly, to struggle and even gnaw her away out, gripping one of the cable ties between her teeth. If he wants a wild cat then that is what he’ll get, right up until the point she is able to claw his eyes out their sockets.

Then he claps again. A pair of pliers appear in his hand. He advances on her, grabbing her jaw and making her open up wide, like a dentists vice. His strength is too much for her to battle with, not for lack of trying.

He holds the metal pliers up to her eyes.

“You’re gonna wish you stayed a good little hole for me. Now…shall we start from the back ones or the front?”

The light of defiance quickly fades to sheer terror as he makes the choice.

She screams until her vocal chords burn out.

*

Michael holds her by the shoulders, at arms length, unable to do little but watch as Eleanor wriggles and convulses, eyes rolled back in her head, like a woman possessed. He’s ninety per cent sure that no demon would be able to infiltrate the neighborhood to invade one of the human’s bodies but he doesn’t rule it out. This is something new and he has yet to work out how to approach it, partly curious to just watch it play out, so long as she doesn’t hurt herself. Or, preferably, him.

The most spellbinding part of this is getting to hear Eleanor speak again. Not just speak but curse like the dirtbag she was. He’s almost tempted to turn off the filter in this section to get the full effect.

“SHIRT! FORKING SHIRT! I FORKING, I…!”

Even with her voice so hoarse and unused, hearing Eleanor Shellstrop swear the house down is the most beautiful sound in the Universe.

Her hands claw and bat against Michael’s front but he knows it’s nothing personal. She’s been making vain attempts to attack thin air since this began, he just happens to be the closest thing in proximity. At least, he hopes it’s not personal.

She’s working herself up into a sweat. He reaches to try to still her.

“Eleanor! Eleanor, look at me!” He steadies her, dodging between slaps and scratches, barely noticing the ones she manages to get in, “Eleanor, stop! It’s me!”

Whatever pleasure he had found in hearing her speak with that filthy mouth of hers again is soon lost as her face contorts with a variety of pained emotions. Anger, distress, hatred, fear, agony. This should all feel like cashing in a paycheck for Michael. It should be his _raison d'être._ Isn’t this everything he ever wanted? Isn’t she getting just what she deserves?

No. No. It’s wrong.

Trevor is the one who is torturing her, even now. Only Michael has the right to do that, if… _when_ he chooses to. Fork. Even with the bastard a thousand dark years away, he’s still ruining Michael’s property. He’s poisoned his Eleanor’s mind and he has yet to find the antidote. He will. He will sort this out and fix his girl.

He tries to hold her head still, which makes her shriek like a banshee in his face.

“Eleanor! Eleanor Shellstrop, _wake up!_ ”

Her screaming subsides as her eyes open up.

And there she is.

She stills in his hands. Her eyes meet his, focused but confused, in a moment that seems to hang outside of time. In all these weeks with her, her eyes have never once had the courage to truly look up at his, always darting halfway down in fear and submission, or gazing out into nothing. He sees a spark of that wit, that street-smart intelligence, that admirable cunning. Only for a second.

Her lips open and close, her face frowning as she struggles to form words, looking as though she’s unaware of having been mute for so long. It takes some effort, croaking and pushing, until she manages to utter a single word of her own free will.

“M-m….M-m…M-My…” She gasps, wincing as she forces it through her throat after weeks of silence; “My…”

“Your? Your what, Eleanor?” He asks, gently, needing this to last.

They’re so close. He can feel it. They just need to push past this and it’s one giant step closer to all of this being over.

“You’re doing so well. C’mon.” he whispers, hand touching her face.

Her eyes begin to water. Hands reach up to grab at his lapels, as if required to hold on for her dear afterlife. Her mouth is open as she tries, with great difficulty and frustration, to lift her tongue for something besides food. To speak.

“My…My…kah…” She croaks out, tears falling down as she fails the last syllable; “My-keh…Micha-el…What the for…”

As quick as it appeared, it goes. The spark dims. Her eyes begin to turn dull and her hands retreat back to her chest.

Michael feels the air leave his not-lungs. Damn it!

“No. No, Eleanor. Stay with me. Don’t go, please, come back.” The pitiful begging escapes him. He strokes her face, searching for her eyes to meet his again; “Eleanor?”

A whimper leaves her lips, small and uncertain. Her eyelids begin to flutter again. It’s as if that fit, that violent eruption of her old self, had never happened. Did Michael just imagine it? Maybe he’s losing it as much as Eleanor after weeks of isolation with one, barely animate human.

Her eyes flicker over him and he assumes she reads that he’s angry, given how she starts to shake, too tired to make an attempt to flee and crawl away. Strangely enough, he doesn’t feel angry. He’s not sure why. He should be furious at her for putting him through this, for not making the progress he needs her to, for making him spend his valuable time in eternity _not_ torturing her. Weird. He’s not angry. Just. Tired, maybe? Heavy and disappointed.

 _Sad._ The word he won’t admit to sighs against his ear.

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

He strokes Eleanor’s hair and brings her close, gently rocking her on his lap, letting her curl against his front. He holds her for hours as they sit on her bed, Michael softly telling the story of how Janet helped him design all the frozen yoghurt shops, until he feels her breathing start to even out and she relaxes in his arms, eyes closing with the softest hum, fingers curling and uncurling against his shirt.

Michael’s heavy feeling…the sad-thingy…starts to shift as he thinks back properly over what just happened. His thumb strokes, idly, across Eleanor’s hair as she sleeps. He saw her. Just for a moment but it was enough. Hope is a teasing bench, he thinks with a smile.

*

She doesn’t quite remember what happened. It was all a blur of noise and light and searing heat meshed into a single blast to her senses. When it all stopped, when she saw the look on Michael’s face, she knew. She had been Bad. She had forgotten her place and rebelled.

Wilful, naughty, stupid idiot. Things never end well for those kinds of girls.

Those girls wind up in the Bad Place with their teeth pulled out, one by one, then fucked in the mouth while their gums are still raw, open and bleeding. Those girls are silenced with red-hot knives and cracks in their jaws. Those girls get what they deserve.

Eleanor had waited. She’d been ready for whatever it was Michael had in store for her.

She reckoned that, whatever it was, it couldn’t be as bad as anything before. He would hurt her as necessary. Make her pay her debt. But, being Michael, he wouldn’t be cruel. He wouldn’t get off on it like Trevor did. It would be painful, but fair. She could take that.

What she received was more of his sweet voice. Her ‘punishment’ was his assuring, kind eyes, staring at her with a hint of sadness. No anger. No vengeful lust. Just. Tenderness.

Aside from one or two justified moments of panic, it’s all he has ever shown her. He’s had her wrapped, protected, in his arms since the moment he carried her out of that cell.

Trevor had said Michael wouldn’t come. Trevor said he was glad to be rid of her.

Trevor was. Wrong?

There’s so many new questions in her head. So many new rules to learn. Not tonight.

For the past couple of weeks, she’s been falling asleep when her body wills her to, too weak to fight the exhaustion. There’s something different about tonight, she realises, nuzzling her head into Michael’s chest as he rocks her. She tries to hear his heartbeat before thinking what a dork she is for expecting an angel to have a regular heart. He probably has some sparkly ball of light or a bell in there. She breathes out, feeling warm and soothed. Safe. Like, maybe, there’s an insane chance she can rest knowing everything won’t all be gone in the morning. Not so long as she has Michael. So long as Michael has her.


	5. Chapter 5

There must be a chance. It doesn’t matter what he tells her. She doesn’t care if it’s true, if no one has ever managed to escape this place. She’ll be the first. She nearly escaped once, by pure fucked up luck, but if a one in a billion chance could come up for her then surely this wasn’t impossible either.

He thinks he has her. He thinks she’s given in. Thrown in the towel and sold herself out to Hollywood, Dwayne Johnson style.

Trevor wasn’t the first douchebag to think he had one over on Eleanor Shellstrop.

She huddles in the corner of her cell, arms tight around herself, her flesh barely sunkissed pink anymore. She’s been decorated with a variety of purples and greens and blacks. He was not in a good mood on his last visit. There must be some thing that goes on in the demon’s afterlife to make him so flippant, a playful sadist one day and then a furious wrecking ball the next. If Eleanor gave a crap then she would try to ask what his deal is. Or maybe this is just what demons are like all the time.

It’s not as if she can recall meeting one before.

All that matters to Eleanor, this time, when he next enters, is that he’s distracted. Maybe a bit too sure of himself and his power over her. Egotistical little prick. She hopes that, if she manages this, the punishment he will receive for losing her will be ten times the torment he’s inflicted throughout the centuries. She hopes he gets retired – then each of those essences fucked on every sun.

When Trevor whistles his way down the corridor, coming towards her cell, she makes certain there isn’t a hint of the contentment on her face. Head bowed. Hair covering her eyes.

The click. The turn. The screech of metal on rusted metal.

_“How do ya like your eggs in the mornin’?  
I like mine with a kiss!”_

Oh great, he’s singing now.

Trevor clicks his tongue; “Yo! Shit bag, did you hear? I want my kiss. Chop chop. Get that skinny ass over here.” He taps his shoe.

Eleanor scrambles forward, performing as instructed, shuffling over to meet him. She wraps her legs around his ankle and starts to rut like the horny mutt he wants her to be. She puts her hands around his thigh and kisses the denim stretching over his already hard cock. She hears him moan in approval.

“Such a good little slut. How about you unzip me so you can have your special breakfast, hmm?” Trevor laughs.

There’s no semblance of fear that she might try what happened again. Her teeth are strewn across the floor, useless to her now. She tries not to focus on that. She doesn’t need teeth to get out of here. Just to be smart. Quick.

She can mourn her teeth later. Or ask Janet to grow them back if she makes it.

Fuck, she misses Janet, even though the not-robot admitted to never being able to be sad about losing someone, not even Michael. Janet may have been a sexy, living Alexa but there was nothing she wasn’t capable of bringing Eleanor to cheer her up – as that was literally her job. When she had attempted to call on a Bad Janet in this place, merely for a glass of water, she’d ended up with a mug of hot pig urine thrown in her face. Never again.

Eleanor moves her head forward, finding the demon’s flies between her lips, moving to tug it down and release him. She tries to be teasing. Work him up, slow and steady. His thirsty, stupid whore.

She might be stupid, in a lot of ways.

But she’s not the idiot who left the door open behind him.

Eleanor ducks and slides between Trevor’s legs, rushing for the exit, stumbling onto her bruised feet that ache like mad when she runs on them. She has no idea where she’s going. Just the end of the corridor. Weave and hide and sneak until she finds the train station. She’ll take whatever one is available, not caring where she ends up, despite her heartache at knowing the likelihood of returning to her friends is slim.

But this is about survival. The Good Place abandoned her, rejected her. So fuck them. Fuck Michael. Fuck all those pretentious, condescending pricks except the three who actually, maybe sorta, cared about her. She’ll find somewhere else. She’ll find her Cincinnati.

Keep running. Just keep running and don’t ever look back.

“Nice try, Energizer Bunny. But you’re forgetting something. One little bitty detail.” Trevor calls from her cell.

He claps his hands.

Eleanor falls, screaming, as her knees bend in the opposite way, bone snapping through the skin. No, fuck, fuck, fuck! She had foolishly hoped that his powers only extended to her cell.

“You’re here for eternity, dipshit!”

Trevor claps again.

Now what?

The smell of gasoline hits her nose. Her hand slips as it feels the surface of the floor. Then there’s the glow. The heat. The crackling. Eleanor turns her head to the direction she had been running.

Fire. Giant, red flames, dancing on the flammable floor.

They’re coming straight for her.

“C’mon, Eleanor. Back you come, unless you wanna take a chance with the human barbeque.”

Like a deer caught in headlights, she’s unable to move. The fire on the train had been horrifying enough, scarring her to the point that Trevor only had to flick his lighter to make her squirm at the sight of a single flame. Now here it is again. She can feel the heat suffocating her despite still being a good distance away. If she crawls through the flames, will she be allowed to flee on the other side?

Very unlikely.

The other option is dragging her broken legs back to Trevor. Back to her cell. That’s what he wants. Or is he hoping that she will burn? He enjoyed fucking her blackened and blistered body so much the last time. It’s not as if he will just let her get away. He’s committed to putting all his energy into her now, until he’s sapped her of any last ounce.

No matter what, she’s fucked. A fucked, useless whore.

The flames laugh as they advance on her. What a stupid plan this had been. She cries out from the blinding pain coursing through her legs. Why had she bothered? He was basically a god here. Devil. Whatever. Either way, she was completely at his lack of mercy. It was pointless to fight.

“Come to Trevor, sneaky rabbit. Come on home.”

She turns. She crawls. She obeys.

She won’t try to leave again.

*

The bad nights, as he calls them, are occurring less often than to start with. But they still come and they’re never easy.

Last night was one of the worst they’ve had in a while. After hours of screaming, of kicking, of tears, it had been almost sunrise before Eleanor finally settled. That’s why he chose to let her sleep in a little longer this morning. He notes how the night terrors only seem to come at, well, night. Her naps on the sofa are a little more peaceful, bar the odd twitching and whimpering. He wonders if there is something missing between the two spots that he’s not seeing, something he can connect to make her sleep in her bedroom feel safer.

Michael spends some time in his office, jotting down more ideas for his current project than his actual job, before going to see if Eleanor is ready to get up. He almost manages to walk straight past without noticing. He’s heading towards the always unlocked bedroom door when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees that she’s beaten him to it. It stops him in his tracks. Not only is Eleanor awake but she’s sat in front of the patio window, knees curled underneath her, hands feeling against the opening. Not only did she get herself out of bed, but she managed to crawl all the way out to that spot.

That’s remarkable progress, surely. Michael’s been having to carry her around and gently guide nearly every move she made, almost feeling like he was semi-controlling her like a puppet, more so than he was comfortable with. This is the farthest she’s ever moved on her own, by her own free will, and he struggles not to call too much attention to it.

Instead he casually moves over to her, watching as her fingers feel at the smallest crooks, pushing with what little strength she has left. It’s a little worrying that she may have forgotten how doors work. He lets that slide.

“You want help with that?” he tries to ask as softly as he can, but he still manages to make Eleanor jump out of her skin in fright.

She turns, eyes wide, breaths short and sharp. The utter fear in her eyes hurts Michael, worrying that she’s started to regress. Even though her eyes never quite met his as they had before or during the other’s night’s ‘blip’, as an equal, as a headstrong manipulator could dare to look into the eyes of an immortal being, it had been a while since Eleanor had seemed this afraid of him. Like she’s been caught out. It stirs something inside Michael as he recalls when…

_“Michael! The problem with the neighborhood…is me.”_

The moment, the out of character twist, that had caused everything to fall apart and shaken him to his core. The moment he had lost control. Lost her.

He raises his palm up; “It’s okay. Here, let me…”

But Eleanor is already scrambling over to him on hands and knees, pressing her nose and mouth to his pants, working her lips up his thighs and then feeling for his zip with her teeth. Fork. No. He gasps and shuts away whatever ridiculous feelings are flooding his brain for a second, for a thousand Bearimys if need be, stepping back and kneeling down to clasp Eleanor’s head in his hands.

He looks at her, watching the fear and confusion twitch on her face, not saying a word as she finds her breathing and steadies on her own, as they’ve been through countless times now, whenever she woke up from a nightmare to find Michael close beside her. He strokes her hair and offers her a smile to show he’s not angry or disgusted or whatever she’s expecting.

He really should be.

“You don’t ever have to do that, Eleanor. Not with me, not with anyone. I need you to understand that.” He tells her, firmly; “This is your house, for however long you want it. I built it just for you. You can do whatever you want. You can walk, talk, watch movies, read, eat junk food, get drunk. You can open any window, any door, and go as far as you want on that beach. If you want to go back to the neighborhood, back to your friends, because you think you’re ready – you just let me know and I’ll call Janet to send a train. Or maybe, when you feel better, you can ask her yourself? You can ask her for anything. You can even boss me around, tell me to get you what you want, that’s why I’m here. For anything you need.”

Hell knows he would take the debasement of playing a servant to a lowly human if it meant it would restore some of old Eleanor’s spirit. Besides, he’s grown rather used to all the menial care-worker chores and home-skills he’s picked up on over the past month. It’s been surprisingly enlightening, almost as though he was being allowed to pretend to be an actual human.

Eleanor blinks, looking as though the information coming from Michael’s lips is being slowly absorbed into her battered brain. He’s been saying similar reminders to her, sporadically, during their time here. He knew that Trevor’s conditioning would not be undone overnight.

“Do you understand? Eleanor?” Michael asks.

A pause. Then she nods, looking only a little uncertain. As if it might be a trick. Understandable. She’s smart to doubt him really, given what he is, what he’s done to her in the past. She doesn’t even know. Can never know.

“Wonderful. Now, would you like me to open the door?”

She takes a breath and nods, again, shaking a little.

He turns the small key in the lock and presses down the handle, opening the patio door about a metre. The fresh, salty air wafts its way into the house and Eleanor takes a deep breath, inhaling as much as she can, eyes closing as it fills her lungs. Anyone watching would think she had been inside her whole existence. Well, her time in that accursed cell probably felt like an eternity, and she had been unconscious when Michael carried her from the train to the house when they arrived.

He watches her as she sits in the little square of sunlight invading the living room, her knees right up to the door frame, watery eyes staring out in wonder to the outside. Over the patio, across the stretch of beach, to the clear blue waves rolling in from the horizon.

“Would you like to sit outside?” He asks her.

She shudders a little and shakes her head. Michael nods, understanding. Too much for one morning. Larva steps only here.

“How about some breakfast?”

Eleanor’s lips twitch and then she exhales with a tiny nod; “Yeah…”

Michael isn’t entirely sure if she really spoke or his ears are playing tricks on him as she breathed out. There’s a spring in his step as he turns to go to the kitchen. Now we’re getting somewhere!

*

It’s another three mornings before Eleanor has summoned enough courage to take Michael up on his offer. Until then it had felt like more than she had ever hoped for just to get a chance to breathe the fresh air again. The atmosphere before had been so heavy, so thick and sordid, like being trapped in a mine or a sewer, suffocating on shit and sulphur. The smell in the beach house was fine, usually the strawberry scented soap on her skin or whatever Michael was attempting to cook, but it had still felt confined. Safe, but trapped.

When she’d been able to feel the breeze in her hair, the warm sun on her face, and not wake up from the cruellest of dreams, it had been enough to know she was back in Heaven. It wasn’t enough to get rid of all the fear. She had been safe in the house up until now. Safe with Michael. Going outside meant risking being found, being taken. No matter how often Michael assured her that it was impossible for Trevor to get to her here, it had taken time before she felt she could believe it.

She’s a greedy, selfish woman. Always wanting more. She could never just settle and be grateful.

There’s a white wicker table and two chairs on the patio, overlooking the beach. She still can’t seem to sit like a normal person, legs always tucked in close, as if she needed to protect them from something. She gazes out over the shore, listening to the waves crash softly, over and over, as she waits for Michael to bring breakfast out.

“Granola, yoghurt and berries today. I just kinda tossed this one all together so tell me if it sucks or it’ll be the same for tomorrow.” He jests, placing the bowl in front of her, along with her morning coffee.

She forgot how much she loved coffee. She hadn’t felt brave enough to ask for a hot drink before. Too clumsy and stupid. Would spill it everywhere, hurt herself, or Michael. Ruin everything. She’d sobbed when she’d taken her first sip just the other day. And the world hadn’t crashed around her.

Her hand shakes as she picks up her spoon and slowly feeds herself. She knows it makes Michael happy when she manages to do things on her own. She wishes she could do more. For him.

Part of her still cringes when she thinks about what happened the other morning. It had been such an awful night, plagued by bad dreams, visions of Trevor pinning her down, rutting into her, telling her what a filthy slut she was, how she was his and always would be. When she’d finally woken up, no sign of Michael or anyone around, something crazy had taken hold of her. As if possessed by a curious cat, she had crawled out of bed and found her way to the living room, then finding the patio door that had been there all these weeks and yet it was though she was seeing it for the first time.

Desperate for a taste, just the smallest lick of freedom, of sunshine, she had pulled on the handle only for it not to give. For whatever reason, she hadn’t seen the key in the lock, so she’d clawed and felt for some hidden release. When Michael had found her, she’d panicked. She hadn’t been trying to escape! Honest! She liked it here. She wanted to stay. She wanted him to be happy with her. She didn’t mean to be bad. Disgusting. Sorry, sorry, sorry.

But she was unable to say all these things to him. So her body responded in the way Trevor had programmed it to.

Show him you care. Show him you’re grateful. There’s a good slut.

Michael had responded in typical Michael fashion, with calm and kind rejection, reminding her of her new lessons. Lessons that were much less painful but a thousand times more confusing. On the one hand, he didn’t want her to be his whore to use and abuse, which should have meant everything to her. On the other, it left her feeling…empty. Unsure of who she was now, what she was, if anything.

Also, did he not want her because he’s an angel, or whatever, and they’re just not into humans? Or does the thought of being with her like that disgust him, after what he knows, what he’s seen?

Again, always greedy. Too many questions. Just eat your breakfast and smile, stupid bench.

At least she doesn’t have to force the smile. The berries are sweet and ripe on her tongue. She looks over at him, some yoghurt on her chin which she wipes off herself before he gets a chance to do it for her. He smiles back at her. He doesn’t look as though she repulses him…

“Do you remember this place?” He asks her later, when their bowls are empty and he’s pushed their chairs together as they finish their coffee.

She frowns and then nods, then shakes her head. Ugh. There should be some sort of in between motion.

She waves her hand in a ‘so so’ movement. It was peaceful and nostalgic, that’s all she really knew.

“I wanted to build you somewhere perfectly suited for you, I guess to make up for the first house I built you that wasn’t meant for you at all. Sorry about that.” He explains.

Eleanor smiles, shyly, sipping her drink. Clown nook and uncomfortable furniture aside, she had grown to appreciate her and Chidi’s multi-coloured cottage. She still dreamed of it, on the better nights, her heart panging for when she would get to go back. When she’s better. Braver. Not yet. That’s fine.

“I looked through your file, your real file, and had Janet build you somewhere based on where you were most happiest living back on Earth,” Michael tells her, “When you were eleven, your dad was arrested for drug smuggling and your mom fled town with the rest of the stash. Social services put you with a foster family for the summer. Ring any bells?”

She nods. The parts about her parents getting in trouble with the law didn’t narrow it down at all, it could have been almost any Tuesday. But she remembered the summer. She remembered Jon and Lacy. Dang, she hadn’t thought of them in decades.

“Your file said you had a lot of fun with them. You stayed with them in their beach house in L.A. I tried to get every detail down as best that I could. Except for your bedroom, I figured you’d rather not have posters of those boybands and that random one of Sesame Street put up on your wall.”

Eleanor blushes a little. That was a good call. New Kids On The Block would not have brought her the same companionship they once did. And the Sam the Eagle thing was a whole other level of embarrassment.

“Anyway. I just wanted to give you somewhere you’d feel safe. Happy, even. Maybe. I know that doesn’t seem all that likely right now, after what you’ve been through…” He starts to trail off, everything getting a little awkward.

Happy? She’s not sure she’d know what this is if she felt it. The very concept scares her. Is it not enough to have moments of peace? Safety? Not-hurt and not-scared? Maybe that was happy, or as close as she would be able to come for now. Maybe forever.

Eleanor looks at Michael, intently. He’d read all of her file. The real Eleanor Shellstrop. He knew everything about her now, every dark shadow, every sin, every debt to the Universe she had racked up and barely begun to pay to restore balance. The Dress Bench story had only scratched the surface of some of the things she’d done, the places she’d sunk to. He’s read all of that, memorised every detail down to the grains of sand on this beach. And he _still_ wants her?

Ah. Don’t cry, Eleanor. Even she is sick of her own crying, Michael must be too.

She puts her cup in her lap and, gingerly, reaches across, touching his bare arm. He looks at her and smiles, covering her hand with his own and squeezing it gently.

It had been a bit of a surprise, the morning he had woken her up without his trademark suit on. At first, he’d just ditched the jacket and bow-tie, before eventually swapping the work shirt and slacks for a polo shirt and khakis. It was nice to see him look more chilled out, especially as Eleanor was aware how much work she could be. How draining.

As dashing as the dream was of having her own guardian angel, coming down to save her from the devil himself, she can’t help but prefer to look at Michael how he is now. Not some all-powerful celestial being. Just a sweet, older dude with a heart of gold. Not like most silver foxes she knew before, ones who offered to take care of a little lady only for her to make him feel ‘young’ in return. Michael wasn’t like that. Wasn’t into that.

But if he asked, then. Hmm.

*

Her summer in L.A had been the best six weeks of her life. And also the most heart-breaking. Because for all the fun she’d had, all the affection Jon and Lacy Carrigan had showered upon her, treated her as their own daughter, it hadn’t lasted. Eleanor’s life might gone in a very different direction, had she been allowed to stay with them. Maybe she could have grown up into someone who wouldn’t have been at all suitable for Michael’s experiment.

Lacy was a master chef. She was the one who taught Eleanor that there was more to do with eggs than just let them fry in a pan next to some greasy bacon. That you could scramble, dice, deep fry, make a salad, paint the shells. She sang and danced with her to Barenaked Ladies on the radio while they waited for the cookies to bake in the oven. Jon had a speedboat and would take her along to the coves, keeping an eye out for sea turtles and dolphins. He bought her a hat and called her Captain. Before bed, the three of them snuggled on the couch under the blanket, watching thrillers that may have not been PG-13. Well, no one is perfect. Eleanor didn’t care. She was happy.

They were all happy.

So, when Donna Shellstrop had managed to clear her slate with the cops and come to collect her daughter, at first the Carrigan’s had fought. They had spent so long working to get Eleanor to come out of her shell, to undo the selfish behaviors that had been instilled in her from years of neglect and emotional abuse, that to hand her back over to the monsters was unthinkable. Or at least it had been, until Lacy’s test had come back positive.

They simply didn’t have the time for two children, or so they claimed. They had to make a choice. Eleanor never stood a chance. Still, when the social workers came for her, she had ran. She had gone to the beach and huddled under the pier. She had wrapped her arms around one of the beams and screamed when they tried to pry her off. When Jon and Lacy had reached for her, wanting to apologize, offering one last hug, she had spat in their faces and hurled more swear words than a typical eleven year old should have known.

They had been the closest thing she’d had to a pair of loving parents. A family. And then they threw her away. The happiest place she had known was also the worst, because of what could have been.

It was how Michael had justified constructing this place for her. He couldn’t exactly give her clowns again after what she knew, what she thought he knew, it would be too obvious. No, give her something serene, something nostalgic in both the best and worst way. A subtle reminder of how she had never been good enough. That she was trash and would always belong with the trash. This was the Bad Place, after all. If he’d been really nice then he would have given her the penthouse suit of the lawyer she dated, purely for his apartment, back in ’08.

At the time, it had seemed clever. He had a job to do, after all, he couldn’t let the work slide, even if he would have to take the softer approach while Eleanor was still fragile. To start with, she didn’t seem to show any recognition of the place, which Michael soon put down to her not being fully aware of her reality, her mind still somewhat lagging behind, trapped in the real Bad Place. He had no problem waiting until she was fully cognizant for her to remember what this place represented, the good and bad memories conflicting within her.

It turned out Michael had to wait for longer than he expected. And during that time he’d been busy focusing on other things. Eleanor. Hobbies. Chores. Eleanor. TV shows. Eleanor. Eleanor.

Now, at last, the day came for him to get a chance to spell out the purpose of this design for her ‘holiday home’. She hadn’t seemed to remember it as clearly as he expected, having to carefully remind her of the childhood that wasn’t, piece by piece. There hadn’t been the swell of emotional turmoil he had expected when he’d planned it out all those weeks ago. Maybe it wasn’t as traumatic as her file had led him to believe? Maybe she’d blocked them out as a defence mechanism?

She had looked at him. Reached for him. Her eyes had said, _thank you_.

Whatever negative feelings he thought were associated with those memories seemed to be outweighed by what little peace and comfort he had given her. That wasn’t the plan. He’d been far too subtle. This wasn’t supposed to be the real Good Place for her, darn it.

Michael stares at her, sitting with her head back, her eyes closed. Face and hair shining in the sun.

He could say something now. _Oh, it’s such a shame how that couple didn’t want you_. No, that was too much. What about, _I bet you wish you could have stayed here forever, huh?_ Still didn’t sound right. _I guess a real kid was more important to them._ Fork it! He’s getting worse.

Eleanor lets out a hum, a faint smile on her face. She’s dozing. Good job the sun can’t burn her.

He needs to deal with this. Wipe that smile off. He’s gone too soft. Indulged and spoiled her too much. Been wrapped tight around her little finger. When was the last time he phoned his team? Asked for a status report? True, little time had passed there since his last one, but he should do it. Remember what his purpose is. Architect. Demon. Torturer.

He stands up, the shadow he casts stirring her. She opens her eyes, looking up at him with complete trust.

Michael sighs, defeated; “Another coffee?”


	6. Chapter 6

She dreams of walking through the town, in shoes she controls herself. She’s off to grab some frozen yoghurt before another of Chidi’s classes. The other residents smile at her, sickly polite as always, ignorant of what she’s been through. If they know she isn’t one of them, there’s fork all they can do about it – not while the Architect has her back. She can walk tall, her head held high, not a single tremor in her steps.

It’s a silly dream. An impossible dream. She knows this even before she wakes. But it makes a nice change.

*

Demons cannot sleep. If they can, it’s not a necessary habit for them to function. There is nowhere to ‘rest’ in the Bad Place. There are no quiet areas, no comfy beds, not even a two-star motel with a crossdressing serial killer for an owner. Everywhere is either too hot or too cold, too dark or too bright, and always loud. No one ever stops working, moving, suffering. How could anyone be expected to sleep when surrounded by the constant eternal screams of the damned? Not even the best mufflers could block that shirt out.

Perhaps that’s why his kind are so moody all the time, Michael wonders to himself. Humans always seemed to be in a better temperament when they got just the right amount of sleep. Too little made them irate and grumpy. Too much had the same effect, probably because they just wanted to get back to sleep. Such short, fleeting lives and they were content to spend so much of it lying down, doing nothing, exploring a twisted unreality of emotions and memories in their head.

Demons can’t sleep, but they can dream. Or day-dream, rather. Pretty vividly at that.

Michael found it an incredibly useful tool as an Architect. He could plan out entire buildings and streets in his head, getting all the details down correct, before getting Janet to construct it in real life just as he imagined it. A similar blueprint had been jotted down in his mind to plan out how to torture the residents and how to get them to torture each other. He could sit in his office, back in town, and watch every scenario between Eleanor and the others take place, then another, seeing how they all linked together and affected each other like toppling dominos, before seeing it play out. It was always a joy when everything went to plan, ecstasy when it went even better than his imagination predicted. And then Eleanor had done what no amount of day dreaming could have prepared him for. Even afterwards, as he scrambled to find the next plot point to keep it all going, his mind was a scribbled mess of ideas leading to nowhere.

That had been enough of a problem before Trevor arrived on the scene. Now, when Michael attempted to do some work, his mind was a blank slate, his imagination tapping impatiently against the canvas like a pencil waiting to sketch. He simply lacked the inspiration.

He could blame Eleanor. Blame how much she was distracting him by demanding his constant care and attention. But if that was the case, why does he find it so easy to get into his YouTube tutorials? Why is it his imagination has no trouble coming up with song lyrics or ideas for something exciting to cook for dinner the next day?

Maybe when he gets back to the neighborhood, it will be different.

Maybe he should just be treating this as furlough.

As for Eleanor, it’s hardly as if she needs him as much as she once did. She’s still not walking, but she has no problem with crawling to areas of the house she wants to be in. Michael winces whenever he watches her move on hands and knees across the floor, fighting the instinctual pull to rush over and scoop her up into his arms. It’s not fair to deny her whatever pitiful excuse for independence she can find. She can feed herself, dress herself, even bathe herself so long as Michael is there to help her in and out of the tub. He hovers close by, the first couple of times, hand ghosting over the doorknob, terrified she will sink herself beneath the surface again.

She doesn’t. He can stop worrying. He would if he could.

They’re hardly out of the woods yet. Eleanor still lacks the verbal skills to truly convey what she wants, let alone summon Janet to get her needs met. She can offer Michael a faint ‘yeah’ to confirm when he asks her if she’d like a hot drink or some food or to be taken outside to sit in the sun. ‘No’ seems to be out of the question, the closest she’s able to come is a shake of the head. He would hate to imagine what transpired in that cell, with Trevor, to make her so afraid of saying the word.

The nightmares are still a thing. Now only two or three nights a week but still an issue. His current project is still attempting to discover why she sleeps more peacefully on the sofa than her own bed. He asks her if there’s anything in the room that scares her or makes her feel ill at ease. Were the colors wrong? Did the calendar of attractive mail men unnerve her somehow? Did that plastic plant look like a demon in hiding? She shakes her head. Maybe it’s not the room, which, hooray, as he was pretty proud of himself for improvising with that part of the house.

Michael is certain that being out in the sun has done wonders for her, judging by the tiny hints of a smile he sometimes catches on her face. He would have encouraged it sooner if he’d known. She had seemed so keen to keep to her own little space, huddling away from the frightening dimension that was now her world. He hadn’t wanted to force her out of that too soon.

It had been a good idea to wait, he assures himself. Eleanor had come to find the outside on her own, Michael just needing to give a push to help open the door.

That would be his job for the meanwhile. For this ‘break’. The pusher.

It might not pay as well, or be the purpose of his existence, but it gave itself back in its own little rewards. Enough to keep Michael from going insane from the same tedious routine.

Such as watching Eleanor slowly wake after a good, quiet night.

He enters her bedroom in the morning, coffee ready in his hands, watching the rays of dawn fall across onto her head on the pillows. Her face is half-way smooshed, hair a bit of a mess, but otherwise peaceful. _Beautiful_. It’s enough to make Michael wish he could sleep to know the feeling.

He puts the coffee cup on her bedside table and sits down on the edge of the mattress, stroking her hair. These moments. When he watches Eleanor’s chest rise and fall steadily. When there isn’t a trace of fear or anxiety on her expression. They only last a few minutes, barely worth counting when you’ve lived for a billion years, like single, meaningless threads on a great long tapestry. These little moments seem to be everything to him now.

She reacts to his touch, not with flinching or a whimper, not today. Instead, she hums and leans in close. Her hand moves out a little, as if reaching for him, but still so tired.

Her eyes blink open, pupils gazing up to find him there.

“Morning, sleepy head.” He whispers, fingers continuing to move through her hair that’s starting to grow out again, that looks brighter after time spent in the sun; “How are we feeling today?”

She makes a small, nondescript noise and gives a, slightly nervous, thumbs up.

That’s what he assumed, judging from her pleasant sleep and the trembling glow of her aura. He liked to get her conformation, though. Sometimes she forced a smile to please him when all other signs let Michael know how false it was. Trevor had kept telling her to smile, right up until the end. Ash-hole.

The smile is real now, that’s plain to see. Real, all for him.

“Wonderful,” he praises, gently, “I’m glad you had a good night’s rest. It meant I was finally able to finish that Desperate Housewives you liked. Tell me, was there anyone in that show who wasn’t a psychopath?”

Eleanor manages another sleepy smile, along with a strange squeak that might be the foundations of a laugh, before she shakes her head. He thought so.

He talks to her a little more until she’s properly awake, able to sit up and lean against him as she drinks her coffee. It’s such a tiny thing, to see her sat drinking coffee in bed, bathed in the sunlight from the window, but it’s a mammoth sized leap from the huddled, quivering creature who needed Michael to feed her just a few weeks ago. To see her improve, little by little, every day, fills Michael with a sense of satisfaction that’s new and frightening to him.

“Do you remember what we talked about last night? What I suggested we could try?” He asks her, cautiously, in case she’s changed her mind, “Are you still up for it, later today?”

There’s a slight break in Eleanor’s relaxed composure, unease creasing her brow, before she regains her courage a little. She nods.

“You sure? The weather is good but we can always change that,” Michael tells her, nudging her with his shoulder; “If you wanna just sit inside, curl up and watch a film, I can make it pour down with rain so it doesn’t feel like we’re missing out?”

She smiles at his teasing and shakes her head at the suggestion to stay in. She wants to do it. She never truly gives up, no matter what she’s been through. It’s remarkable.

Michael grins as she rests her head against his arm,

“That’s my girl.”

*

It’s only when they come close to the water that her nerves seem like they will let her down.

Michael had let her choose what she wanted to wear, giving her the option of her seven favourite bikinis she had either seen in the store windows of Macy’s or on the sexy but snooty bench from two doors down from her old apartment. She goes with the light purple two-piece, which she dresses herself in, thrilling at the mere act of wearing something attractive of her own free will and not some controlling demon or well-meaning angel dressing her up like a doll.

As she tied her hair back, thankful for how long it was getting now after repeatedly having it ripped and torn out from the roots, Eleanor almost got lost staring at herself in the mirror.

After weeks of having sat there, first thing in the morning and then after her bath, watching a glassy-eyed, meek and helpless woman need to have her hair brushed and sorted by someone else, it was difficult to reconcile those memories with the woman she saw reflected before her today. She could at least look at herself properly now. She knows that, clothes and hair aside, she still doesn’t resemble Eleanor Shellstrop. Her shoulders are still weighed down with fear and self-loathing. Her eyes look constantly on the verge of crying. She tries to smile but, after too long, her cheeks always start to twitch, uncomfortably.

_You should smile more. You have such a pretty smile._

Eleanor dropped the hairbrush, hands beginning to shake, chest tightening. She had looked at how the bikini top showed off her cleavage, despite still being rather modest.

_Look at you with your knockers out! That’s right, you show everyone what a ready and willing little hooker you are, slut._

Her quivering hands had moved up, unsure if she should cover her breasts, or her ears.

It would have been so easy right then to cry out like a scared, little kid. Cry for Michael to come find her, wrap her up, hide her from the big, bad ghosts.

A quick glance in the mirror had showed her that she was starting to resemble more of the girl she’s been quietly meeting with in the glass ever since she was brought here. Maybe she will never be anything else. Weak, beaten, lost.

Then came a knock at the door.

“Ready, Eleanor?”

Michael’s voice had hooked itself around her and guided her gently back down to reality. Breathe, Eleanor had told herself, breathe. In and out. In and out. Nothing can hurt you. Not while he’s here.

She gave a soft; “Yeah,” which is as much as she able to speak lately.

The door opened and Michael had smiled down at her; “You look great. I hope we don’t come across any mermaids, or they’re gonna want to steal you away into one of their cults.”

Eleanor managed to laugh, silently. Michael stayed deadpan.

“No, I’m serious, they’re _very_ persuasive and terrifying.”

Now, ten minutes later, Michael is carrying her down the stretch of sand outside the house, towards the ocean. The wind picks up the closer they get, adding an extra layer of goose bumps onto her skin, on top of those caused by her rising anxiety. Her arms hang on to the angel’s neck, grip tightening a little, as the waves draw nearer. Did they have to choose to do this when the tide was out? She supposes Michael (or Janet, whoever controlled it, surely not the moon) could alter it how he pleased, if she had thought to ask.

Eleanor looks down. Michael’s jeans are rolled up, his feet the only part of him that’s bare as the water laps against them, moving up to his ankles.

She gasps and clutches onto him, tight, unable to hold back the fear another second.

The walk to this point had felt both an age too long and also far too quick.

Michael stays very still, “If you wanna go back, we can. Just shake your head and we can leave this for today. We’ll stick a pin in it. Eat some ice cream on the porch and try again tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the day after that. But if you want to do it now, know that there’s no reason to be afraid, Eleanor. You’re in the Good Place, remember? I’ve got your back. Literally, right now, and my arms will probably go numb if we just stand here forever, so I might ask you to hurry a bit with your choice.”

Eleanor takes a deep breath. She knows he’s right. She just hates how petrified she can still be by these minor, once normal activities.

She takes a deep breath. Then, carefully, she loosens her grip on his neck.

She nods, giving him her bravest look.

Michael’s warm eyes meet hers and he walks a few more steps out, not giving pause when the water soaks his jeans a little, then lowers Eleanor into the ocean. She exhales, finding the water both somehow warmer and cooler than she imagined. Just the right temperature for a swim on the beach. She allows herself to move away as Michael steps back, carefully, looking poised to dive forward and grab her if she needs him to.

No. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

Eleanor smiles and paddles farther out, letting the water move up to her shoulders. When a wave laps against her face, some water falls into her mouth, and she’s surprised when there’s no bitter kick of salt on her tongue. Oh, right. Heaven. Despite the salty smell, the whole ocean may as well be a fresh spring. She makes a note to congratulate Michael on that idea when she has use of her voice again.

“Not so scary, huh.” He calls, raising his voice a little now as she moves back.

Eleanor shakes her head. It might be a little scary…but it’s a good scary, for now. She has no trouble remembering how to swim, to tread water, finally able to stretch her legs out and kick them to keep herself afloat. It all came so naturally. She enjoys the freedom, the openness, that simply cannot be replicated in a bathtub, or even in a pool Janet could create for her on the patio. She dares to put her head under the water, hoping it doesn’t give Michael a heart attack if that’s possible, before pulling it out again and giving him a smile.

She’s okay.

Michael lets out a sigh and sits down on the sand, seemingly content to watch her. He said that she could take as long as she wanted. Often times he talks as if they have all the time in the afterlife in this little getaway. She knows that can’t be the case. Surely it has to end, some day. Some day when they have to get back to town and face the frozen yoghurt. Not quite yet.

She doesn’t know for how long she’s been floating, swimming, letting her mind drift off, before she hears Michael speak again.

“Do you wanna try…y’know?” He asks her.

Eleanor remembers. She looks down at her feet, distorted below the surface of the crystal blue water. She can see the sand, the smooth shells, the tiny silver fish darting about. She doesn’t feel them, her knees still bent, supported by the water. Carefully, steadily, she lowers her toes to the ground, putting as much weight on them as she can.

To her great shock, there’s no snapping of bone. Her feet don’t twist and bend in all the wrong ways.

“That’s it! Well done, Eleanor.” Michael praises, and it feels like too much too soon.

She’s standing up. Great. Only when up to her shoulders in a body of water. It doesn’t quite have the same effect as standing on land. Michael’s so damn taller than her anyway, more so when she’s farther down a slope. She still feels so small.

“Now, you wanna try walking to me?” He reaches out his hand.

Walking. Fork.

She needs to do it. She can’t keep crawling like a kitten forever. Can’t keep relying on Michael to carry her everywhere.

She falters a little, knees buckling, the water the only thing stopping her from falling on her backside. As she looks over to where Michael is, the short distance he seemed to be from her before now looks like miles. She clenches her jaw and tries to take a step forward, feeling the weight fall more to her knees, the more she moves out of the water. There’s an ache in her thighs from where she’s not used them in so long. They’ve hardly shrunken or rotted away, not after Janet restored her to physical health. But it hurts. She regrets not doing more stretches during these months in a horizontal position, instead of just goggling at the hot virtual gym instructors on TV without any intention of mimicking them.

In terms of pain, however, she’s suffered far, far worse. This is nothing compared to the burnings, the flaying or the constant mutilations. It’s just that she’s been spoiled for too long. Weeks and weeks kept in a bubble of safety and comfort. She had almost begun to forget about pain. Just for a brief moment. Silly, stupid girl.

This pain, this throbbing, is one that is worth it if it means getting control of her own afterlife back.

“You’re doing amazing, Eleanor. Come on. Just a little closer now. Come to me.”

Michael’s voice, soft and encouraging, then twists and morphs into something else. Something slimy and mocking. Cruel.

_“Come back to me, El dog. Come back where you belong.”_

Eleanor glances up. It can’t be.

Drip. Drip.

She was promised that he was gone. Promised he wouldn’t find her here.

She freezes, halfway out of the water, beginning to lose her balance as the world around her shakes to its very foundations. Trevor stands where Michael has been, grinning maliciously. She blinks, and then Michael reappears, then another blink, the two are next to each other, so close they are fading through the other’s shoulders. Eleanor shudders, face white with panic, not knowing if she can trust her own eyes anymore.

No. Please, no.

Drip-Drip-Drip.

Don’t let her go back. Do not let him take her back!

“Eleanor?”

She closes her eyes, trying to hone in on the source of the voice. Focusing on the real speaker. She feels dizzy. She’s going to fall and plummet into the depths and no one will be able to find her again.

She could take another step but it would mean shattering every bone in her leg. She’s not supposed to be walking. It’s not allowed. Not for her. Women walk. Whores crawl. Whores beg. Whores keep their forking heads down.

“Eleanor! Open your eyes!”

She obeys. Always obeys.

Michael is moving a little forward now, wetting his feet again, but still keeping a distance. He holds his hands out to her.

“C’mon now. Just a few more steps, that’s all you need to do.” He tells her, looking worried as she zones in and out; “I promise you, I will not let anyone hurt you, nothing bad is going to happen. You’re safe…You’re free. No one will ever stop you walking or doing what you want again. The only one holding you back right now is you, okay? So…Girl, get your shirt together and move your ash over here.”

*

He knows it’s a risk, talking to her so bluntly. But he knows Eleanor, the real Eleanor, underneath all that conditioned fear. He knows the sort of words that really motivate her. Not sentimental trash about believing in yourself or having faith in some fictional deity, or even a real one like him. He says what he knows she would probably say if the roles were reversed. He’s not commanding her, like Trevor. She’s free to tell him to fork off or flip him the bird. She’s also free to prove to the not-world that Eleanor Shellstrop can still walk with pride.

Michael waits and watches, keeping his hands stretched out and ready.

He sees the gumball machine of emotions shift on her face as she tries to pull herself out of her panic attack. Tears spring to her eyes, which also flicker with fury and determination, before she takes another step forward. Her aura is a kaleidoscope right now, almost impossible to read, as if she’s going through every emotion possible in the space of several seconds. Her knees are shaking, not quite straight, posture still a little hunched as she makes her way out of the water on two legs, as if she were only just granted them.

She’s doing it. She’s walking. Sorta.

“That’s it, Eleanor. Take my hand. Almost there and…”

Eleanor takes a big step forward, just as her legs give way, fingers clutching Michael’s.

He grabs her, pulling her forward, wrapping her slippery frame tight in his arms as she flings hers around his shoulders again. Her whole body shivers, a high-pitched sound against his ear, which he’s unable to tell is a sob or a laugh. He takes a breath and squeezes her tight, lifting her feet off the ground.

“I gotcha.”

He knew she could do it. It always amazed him how much endurance humans possessed in them. But Eleanor Shellstrop was a whole other level of unbeatable.

When he pulls back from the hug to look at her, she’s grinning from ear to ear, tears on her cheeks.

It almost makes him want to…No, ew, that’s. That’s gross, no.

But he wipes the tears off with his thumb; “You humans and your weird emotions. You just made an incredible step in your recovery and you’re crying?”

Eleanor then gives him an incredulous look. Like ‘what the fork are you talking about?’ It’s the most he’s seen of her true self since he lost her all those months ago.

He’s about to ask what she’s looking so funny at when she moves her own hand up and wipes something off his own face…

Oh.

Okay, he hadn’t noticed that and now he feels like a hypocrite.

“Well…” he bites his lip, bashfully, batting his own wet eyelids; “…That there is your fault for making me so forking proud that it must have leaked out of me. All right? Don’t you go telling everyone I’m some soft-hearted boss, I have a reputation to-.”

Eleanor kisses his cheek.

Again, he’s struck dumb. Speechless.

She blinks up at him, hands still wrapped around his neck, her small frame hanging off him, feet resting on his. It’s almost impossible to read her. To know what that was, what it was about. He knows what most prompted Eleanor to kiss the men in her life. He knows how she’s been conditioned to behave in her afterlife. He’s not exactly a man, but, he doesn’t see what he expects in her eyes as they stare up at him.

They’re soft and shining with gratitude. Without any expectation of something in return or a want for her own selfish desires. No lost and fearful desire to please either. They look at him as if he just handed her the Universe.

“Th-ank ‘ou.” Eleanor manages to whisper.

Michael exhales and strokes her damp hair; “You’re welcome. Now, what d’you say to some lunch? Because that took enough out of me and I was just a bystander, you did all the work.”

She smiles and nods, moving to hang onto his arm as they make their way back to the house.

She manages a few steps before her legs begin to weaken again, her knees taking on too much, too soon, after so long out of commission. Michael bends down so she can hop up onto him for a piggy-back ride. She’s earned that privilege after coming so far, trying so hard. He wishes he had a single drop of her willpower. He might not then be failing so hard at torturing her.

There had been the perfect opportunity right then, when she had been in the water, when he’d watched her swim and relax against the shallow waves. She’d been completely unaware of the electric eels had had circled her, the ones which Michael had put in the ocean on the day he’d designed this place for her, an original detail of his that had been lacking from her childhood memories. A pair of slimy eels that gave the most annoying, rather than painful, zaps upon coming into contact with them.

Right then would have been the best timing for more torture. Just something small. Barely noticeable. Work his way back into it.

Michael had taken one look at Eleanor’s face, content and relaxed as she found a moment of joy after all these dark months, then seen the eels circling near her.

With a subtle flick of his wrist, he had flung them to the far corners of the ocean.

Not today. Not ever. He’s decided, he never wants to be the reason that smile falls from her face. He’ll pass that baton to someone else, if he approves. Her so-called friends can torture her, once they get back, and Eleanor will give as good as she gets. His colleagues, fellow demons, can do their worst to her and no doubt she’ll still come out on top. They can do it, when he allows, how he allows. Only them. Not physical. Not more than she can take.

Not him.

*

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that the day wouldn’t have been without any emotional setbacks. They find her in the late afternoon, when she’s having her well-earned nap inside, her bikini set covered by one of Michael’s shirts that swamps her as she curls up on the sofa. They had practiced walking from the ocean twice after lunch, each time a little quicker, all the more tiring.

In the nightmares, she wanders too far out into the sea. A voice calls after her but she doesn't listen. Such a dumb bench.

She can’t see Michael. She can’t see anyone. Even the shore and the beach house fades away until she’s treading water in the middle of the ocean. Nothing to cling to. Not so much as a raft or a sexy Baywatch-esque lifeguard. And then she’s being pulled down, into the dark, a shark’s teeth plunging into her legs and shredding them apart. It devours her limbs, tearing flesh from bone, bone from other bones, until she’s nothing but a torso adrift for eternity.

Oh, and the shark is laughing at her. Trevor’s laugh.

Always forking Trevor. She can never escape.

“Shh, sweet girl, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

Eleanor barely manages to wake, fully, when Michael gently rouses her, his hand on her shoulder.

“Let’s get you to bed. I know it’s early but you’re exhausted, Eleanor.” She just about hears his words through the thick fog of tiredness in her skull.

She’s shaking but unresisting as he picks her up off the sofa and carries her to her bedroom.

He lays her limp, spent body down on the bedspread. He must somehow tell that she’s too warm as he doesn’t tuck her in as he normally would, just sees that her head is comfy on the cushions.

Eleanor tries to look up at him, but her eyelids feel as though they weigh a ton to open.

Michael moves a lock of hair from her forehead; “See you in the morning, sleepy head.”

He goes to move away.

She reaches out and grabs his sleeve.

“…S-stay.” She requests, voice still weak.

Michael might be too dense to realise it. But she’s managed to solve the puzzle. She knows and has known for weeks now, what it is that brings her more comfort when sleeping on the living room sofa rather than in bed. The one constant that is there when she’s in the living room, that never strays too far, as opposed to what is missing when it leaves her at night. Not right away. It’s there when she first nods off, lulling her with its presence and gentle words, making sure she falls asleep calmly. But when she wakes, when the shadows have dug their claws into her soul, it’s usually left her by then and needs to be summoned back with a piercing scream.

And it always comes back. As if ready and waiting, perched outside the door, expecting the call. It appears in a heartbeat and shoos the monsters away with its presence alone. They dare not return, not while it’s there, not while it’s shielding her in its arms, not while it whispers firm reassurances into her open, vulnerable brain.

Eleanor had known for a long time. But she had thought it too selfish to dare to ask. The poor dude had to spend enough of the day with her as it was, what right did she have to ask him to sit with her all night as well? He’d told her about how he doesn’t need to sleep, how he uses the downtime he gets when she’s in her room to either work to practice some new human hobby he’s obsessed with. Any time she considered depriving him of that freedom before, those Fork Off Eleanor moments, she felt more wicked than ever.

All she wants is one night. Just one. She’ll do anything. If she wasn’t certain how Michael would respond, she would offer herself up, just as Trevor’s voice in her head urges her to.

_Give him a little somethin’ somethin’ and maybe you’ll have earned his company._

Fork…n-no. She doesn’t want to be that. She doesn’t want to be that desperate anymore.

All she wants is to not be left alone. She wants to be held.

She wants… _needs_ Michael. Oh, how pathetic.

She’s about to pull her hand back, shake her head, pretend that she’s changed her mind. Misspoke. Just leave her alone. She’s a big girl now and she needs to face her demons on her-

“Scoot then.” Michael nudges her, slightly.

Eleanor blinks at him, stunned at the response. She really shouldn’t be. When has Michael ever denied her anything since he brought her back?

She shuffles to the side of the bed a little to allow the taller man to lay down next to her. He opens his arms, inviting her to curl against him. She accepts. She leans her head against his chest as he puts his arms around her. Holds her. Not rocked or carried. This is different. This is shelter. It takes barely a minute until she drifts off again. She goes to where the monsters dare not follow.

Another one of his miracles.

*

Demons cannot sleep. Fork, he wishes they could.

If he could sleep then he wouldn’t have to watch her. Now it’s all he can do. He cannot escape it. And it’s not like those lovely moments on the good mornings where he knows it’s only fleeting, that soon she will wake up, that they will need to get through another day. He has twelve or so hours ahead of him. Just here. With her.

Billions of years of existence and he’s never known a moment of quiet reflection. Not this long. Not this much time and silence to just _think_. To be alone with just one other person, whether human or demon or Janet. He always imagined it would be nothing but boredom. Wasted Bearimys. Pointless.

Much like the day Eleanor had taken him to the arcade instead of working with him. What had been the purpose, other than to distract him? Why did humans choose to spend their days like that, with each other? It wasn’t something demons did. It’s all so new and strange and a little bit scary. Daunting to have to try to figure it out on his own. He wishes he could ask the woman in his arms. He wishes he could tell her the truth.

Eleanor hums, serene, as she rests against him, not a single twitch of fear on her face. Michael’s eyes stay on her. He seems to have solved what the key is to giving her a truly settled night. It had been Jason levels of simple, really. Just to sleep with the knowledge she’s safe, with someone she trusts, someone who would never hurt her.

He rests his head against her hair, feeling sick with himself.

The truth would be worse than any torture Trevor had inflicted upon her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork credited to Star-Pepper (https://star-pepper.tumblr.com/).


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: knives, references to non-con and demonic genitals

It’s pitch-black when he hears her cry out for him. Is he blind? How can it be so dark? He can see in nine dimensions; his eyes should be able to see without light as well as any cat.

“MICHAEL! MICHAEL, PLEASE!”

His chest tightens with alarm. He moves without direction. Running aimlessly around the void.

“MICHAEL! NO, PLEASE, NO!”

“Eleanor!” He calls out, trying to follow the sound of her shrieking; “Eleanor, hold on, I’ll be right there!”

Where the fork is she? For that matter, where is he supposed to be?!

“NO, NO, PLEASE, STOP!” Her cries descend into ravaged screams, uncontrollable; “I’LL BE GOOD, PLEASE, STOP HIM! MICHAEL, PLEASE!”

Distantly, he hears the all too familiar sound of flesh being torn apart. Something sharp slicing through skin and muscle. No, no, not again. They can’t have taken her again! He didn’t allow it the first time! This is too far. This is unconscionable.

He’s fuming as he races forward and his hands find the surface of a door, waiting to be opened.

"Eleanor?!"

He wakes up before he can enter, hand on Eleanor's stomach as she lays, silent, beside him. He forgets where he was going. Within seconds, he isn’t even aware that he, a demon, slept.

*

Sometimes it’s easier for her to try things when Michael isn’t around. There isn’t as much of a crushing pressure on her to get it right, not as much worry about disappointing him when she fails. She wonders why it matters to her so much. Growing up, she had never cared about meeting anyone’s expectations. Her folks had set the bar so low that there was nowhere to go but up. And it’s not as if Michael is constantly setting deadlines for her to meet or handing out punishments when she screws up.

Maybe that’s the issue. He’s always so sweet. Too sweet, too forgiving, too patient. On the one hand, it’s everything she needs right now, and on the other it somehow makes her more aware of what a dirtbag she was. Is. How it makes zero sense for him to be doing all of this for her. The one time he ever lost it was when she, possibly, almost tried to hurt herself. Fair dos. Even with his constant reassurance that he would keep her in the Good Place – regardless of who she was on Earth – there was still this nagging voice in her head to make him happy because…

Eleanor takes a deep breath. Her toes grip the sand between them. She should lay back, relax, maybe even take off her top. It’s a private beach after all. That wasn’t even something she would have cared about before, when she was alive. Nobody should miss out on seeing this snack.

Now, when she considers showing her body in the open air, she feels that spicy breath on the back of her neck and feels that sweaty hand moving around to cup a feel.

So, she sits on the towel with her legs drawn up and her head on her elbows, watching the waves. She might go for a swim in a little while or walk back to the house. Watch some TV while Michael finishes whatever he’s up to in his office. There isn’t really a whole lot of other options. What had seemed like an idyllic, peaceful holiday villa when she had grown the confidence to appreciate it was now starting to feel like a gilded cage. Pretty, warm, safe, but basic. And basic was okay. Basic was better than being slammed against the wall until every bone shattered like glass. If it’s a choice between the two then she will stick with basic.

She knows better than to push her luck. If she starts falling back into her old, selfish ways then Michael will have no option but to send her back to the Bad Place, whether he wanted to or not. He hasn’t said as much but Eleanor is still sharp enough to figure it out. He’s doing so much to try to help her get back on her feet, in more ways than one. But, great heavenly being aside, there’s only so much he can do. The rest she needs to try on her own. She needs to get better for his sake as much as her own, so they can both be free.

Eleanor puts her hands either side of her, fingers digging into the soft sand, still damp from where the tide has gone out. She works her jaw again, feeling it click a couple times. She stretches her tongue around her mouth, feels it against her teeth.

“Jjjj…” she pushes, feeling the strain as she tries to form the name on her lips; “Jaaah…”

Fork! What is wrong with her?!

She knows she can speak. She’s been mostly monosyllabic for almost a month now. ‘Yes’, ‘Thanks’, ‘Please’, ‘Help’, ‘Stay’, ‘Micha’. This week she’s started to master broken sentences. She doesn’t say no. That still feels like something beyond her horizons. When she’s alone, she practices rolling words around, trying to form them into longer strings of a conversation. Sometimes, when her and Michael are having their talks on the patio or the sofa or when he holds her before she falls asleep, she tries to respond as much as she can, to be more than just a mute soundboard.

But there’s something about saying this name that constricts her voice box. Being able to say this name is more than just speaking, it’s giving her access to a power that she’s been told is hers to use since she arrived, but she’s been too afraid to even contemplate wielding it.

“Jaa…” She takes a breath, then another.

She looks at the waves and pictures where she had been a couple weeks ago. How she’d taken her first steps out of the water, walking upright, moving uneasily towards her friend. She hears Michael’s words of encouragement in her ears. She feels his hands on her, fingers curling around her own, firm palms on her waist, catching her, safe and sound.

The only one holding her back is her.

Eleanor stretches her jaw again and inhales; “Ja-net!”

“Hi there!”

The pleasant ‘bing’ startles Eleanor back onto her side. She had been focusing so much on simply having the courage to summon the not-lady that she had forgotten to prepare for when Janet actually appeared, popping into existence beside her. She starts to panic, not having been close to another being except Michael for months now.

Janet’s default pleasant smile softens into something more sympathetic when she notices Eleanor start to skitter away.

“Eleanor. It’s okay. You know I couldn’t hurt you, even if I wanted to. Which I wouldn’t.” Janet tries to explain, awkwardly, “Sorry. I’m not used to comforting humans. They’re not really supposed to need it in the Good Place. Just, please, know that I am here to give you whatever you need.”

She tries to stop her trembling.

It doesn’t help that Janet and the Bad Janets look so alike, clothes and hairstyle and attitude aside. Trevor once summoned a Bad Janet so he could watch her rub boiling hot oil over Eleanor’s body, jerking himself off as the Bad Janet rang her tongue over her, taunting Eleanor for not ‘getting into it’. It’s hard to be aroused when your skin is sizzling down to the muscle.

“I…I…uhm…” Now that she’s finally managed one big step, she’s forgotten what he next one is.

Janet sees her struggle.

“Is there anything I can get for you? A drink?” She coaxes, “A magazine? A cardboard cut-out of Yasmine Bleeth? Those are the three most common beach requests.”

She’s being given choices. Those are always difficult.

She much prefers it when Michael simply offers something so all she has to say is ‘yes’. It takes a lot to shake her head when she really doesn’t want to do something.

“…I-Iced te-tea, please?” She asks, timidly.

Eleanor braces herself for something to be thrown in her face. Something wet and freezing that will leave her shuddering for hours. Whores don’t get to choose, idiot! Whores take what they’re given!

Janet smiles and hands her a glass, topped with a straw and slice of lemon.

She takes it with both hands; “Th-thank ‘ou.”

It’s difficult to deny the small rush of confidence she gets at being able to get something she wants, instantly, without needing to beg or bargain. Michael is getting really good at cooking, coming a long way from the simple pasta dishes he would whip up to start with, and he never gives her anything that would disgust her. But having this freedom, this almost infinite choice of luxury, is special.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Janet asks.

Eleanor sips her drink, loving the coolness on her throat; “Y-yeah…Uhm…Sit? C-can you sit? With me, please?”

Janet looks a little taken back at what looks to be a new request.

“I have a limited time with each resident until I’m needed elsewhere in the neighborhood. But sure, I can ‘hang’ for a little while.”

Eleanor shifts over on the blanket, allowing Janet to sit beside her.

“This is neat. I’ve never sat down on the ground before.” She remarks, cheerily, “Feels weird. Not sure I like it. Oh, ever since I was rebooted, I’ve gained the capacity to like and dislike certain things.”

That’s a rather helpful segway into what Eleanor wanted to talk to her about.

“S-sorry.” She says, curling her hands around the glass; “M’sorry I…m-murdered. Sorry.”

True, Chidi was the one who pushed the button, which was an accident in itself to stop Jason. But it had all been Eleanor’s idea. Everything was her fault.

“Eleanor, if you were the one who murdered me then I must have already told you that I don’t feel pain. That’s the truth.” Janet assures her; “I know about what happened. You only did what you had to do to save Michael from retirement.”

“N-not…” she denies, shaking her head; “Not for…M-Michael. Did it so I’d…s-save myself. Worried Chidi would s-say something. Gimmie away. Or I’d…be even worse. N-never be able to stay. S-so selfish. M’bad, Janet, M’really…really bad…”

The tears come as she’s finally able to confess, words spilling out so easily once she gets going. She had told herself that the ends justified the means, that it was worth ‘killing’ someone who wasn’t even technically alive, to save someone else. Someone who called her a friend. She almost believed in her own bullshirt.

A hand pats her hair, oddly; “There, there.”

Eleanor assumes that’s more of the newfound attempts at comforting. It makes her smile, if nothing else.

“Th’nks…”

“It’s not my place to say if something is good or bad. But I want you to know that I do still like you, even though you murdered me. Being rebooted has given me the chance to see things from a new perspective and gain new understandings of the world and myself.” Janet tries to explain.

She does seem different from what Eleanor remembers. Not quite so robotic. There’s a shimmer of humanity in those wide, all-knowing eyes. Eleanor struggles to come to terms with the idea that something awful she did ended being for the better.

Eleanor takes a glance back up at the house. There’s a smell of peppers and seasoning coming from the open patio door as her roommate starts making fajitas.

“Janet…W-what d’you think of Michael?” She asks, for some reason trusting the judgement of an omniscient living database more than herself.

“Michael is the Architect of Good Place neighbourhood 12358W.” Now she sounds like a walking computer again.

“I mean…d-do you like Michael? What ‘you think about…him?”

Janet blinks, processing the question.

“I haven’t spent that much time with Michael since I was rebooted.” She admits, a flicker of uncertainty across her face; “Personality wise, I found him frustrated and disappointed upon our first few meetings, possibly because I kept filling his office with cacti. Then, after you left with Trevor to go to the Bad Place, he was very irate. Worried. Pacing a lot around the town and snapping at the other residents when they tried to help – until I was able to summon a train to take him there to get you. Since then he has only really called on me to bring you both general supplies and for updates on the town. He insists on doing everything I could provide instantly himself, to quote ‘get the human experience’. That is the extent of our relationship.”

Nothing Eleanor didn’t already know. She felt a need to talk to someone else, someone not too attached to her previous self, about the man who had been her only companion these past several weeks. A second opinion on if her trust with him was rational.

“In addition to that, I can also share my estimation of his character based on what I have discovered in his office.” Janet shares, sounding a little sneaky, like a girl dishing out gossip over a fence; “Judging by his collection of human paraphernalia and the intrinsic blueprint sketches, I can surmise that he is dedicated to his work and is fascinated with humans on a level unlike most Architects who remain detached from those they design their towns for. That has been his priority; to make sure the residents of his neighborhood were satisfied and everything in running order.”

Which was all well and good until Eleanor showed up to ruin everything. His greatest failure, he had called her.

“However, after analysing his behavior and requests upon the last few weeks, it seems clear that his priorities have now changed.”

She shifts on the towel, sliding her toes through the sand at the edge.

“…T-to what?”

Janet smiles; “To Eleanor Shellstrop.”

*

Ads suck. He hopes that one day, if he ever gets the chance to torture someone new, he’ll get to be the one to punish whatever ash-hole invented YouTube ads. Make the nerd sit through a million of them as they wait and wait for the physical torture to finally begin, which is then almost immediately interrupted by more ads.

It’s the first time in weeks that Michael thinks about torturing. And it’s mostly in jest, a cathartic thought experiment as the video he was watching is interrupted by one of those infuriating, unskippable car insurance commercials. He very much doubts the real Good Place puts up with these.

He’s just turning the chicken in the oven when Eleanor enters, holding a couple of objects close to her, as she steps over the threshold.

Michael feels the world brighten up when he sees her. Even though her posture isn’t what it was, lacking that fiery bravado that had once made her look so tall for such a little thing, it’s still great to see her walking. Weeks of coaxing seem to have sunken in and she knows she is free to walk and go where she pleases, in this house and across the beach, to the small forests on the other side at the foot of the mountains, if she desired, not that she ever goes too far. 

“Hey, there’s my favorite human.” He greets her, noting that her eyes look a bit puffy, “Though, you’re currently my only human, so don’t let it go to your head.”

Eleanor gives him back a smile as she takes his white shirt, the one she’s practically stolen from him at this point, off the back of the chair and puts it on to cover herself. He never says anything about it, even though she has infinite options of sarongs and dresses to choose from, so he’s not sure why she’s so attached to that one.

She takes a seat at one of the stalls of the kitchen island, placing her objects down.

“Iced tea and…a book?” Michael frowns, turning back once he’s checked on dinner; “I take it this means you did it?”

Eleanor nods, blushing, “Y-yeah…’did it.”

“Ha! Excellent.” He beams, well aware of how much of a trial simply summoning Janet has been for her, “I say this calls for a celebration. How about a margarita? My newest recipe.”

Or rather one stolen from a mom of six in Detroit.

Eleanor’s eyes sparkle, just for a second, with a thirst for her favorite beverage, only darkened a little with that built-in uncertainty. She rings her hands in front of her. He knows she hasn’t had a proper drink since she came back. But she is an adult and it’s not as if Michael is planning on plying her with booze – they’re going to be eating anyway.

“What’s the book?” He asks, knowing he could look over and see for himself, but the question gives her a chance to practice speaking.

“W-what We…Owe To E-each Other. Tim Salon.”

Michael glances over; “T.M Scanlon.”

“W-what I said.” Eleanor sips her drink and Michael grins to himself, thrilling at the little moments when her carefree wit waves a hand up to show it still lives; “W-was reading with Chidi before…all this. Wanna try finish it. Before ‘go b-back.”

She hasn’t mentioned Chidi or the others in a while. It makes him pause. Even Michael has to admit that it’s been days since he gave a real thought to the other humans in his charge, or his demon colleagues, or the rest of the neighborhood he so painstakingly designed. It was almost as if he and Eleanor had been existing in a little bubble of reality all on their own, with nothing but the occasional Janet visitor. He wonders how often she thinks of Chidi. Of the others.

Is she lonely here with just him?

“You still want to learn ethics?” He decides to ask instead of the real worry in his head; “Eleanor, I told you. You don’t have to try to prove you’re a good person anymore. You belong here and if anyone has a problem with that, they’ll have to take it up with me, not you.”

She shakes her head; “S’not why…Still just…wanna be better. Not be Bad.”

Michael wishes he could tell her that it was just how Bad she was that was why he chose her. It was what had made her so attractive to him, as a test subject, right from the start. He doubts she would take it as much of a compliment as he would mean it to be.

“You’re not bad, Eleanor.” He tells her, softly, “You might not be a saint but that’s fine by me. You’re human. The most human human I’ve ever met and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

He had chosen all of his humans based on how amazingly complex all their flaws and histories were. He didn’t want murderers or psychopaths or 4chan trolls. Those were all so boring, the most basic of evil. He wanted four _real_ people he could study and learn from and delight in tormenting mentally without any gratuitous, physical suffering that would take away who they were.

That was what Trevor had done. Taken away his Eleanor. Michael was only now, slowly, starting to get her back.

Eleanor prods the glass in her iced tea that doesn’t seem to melt; “J-just…not sure how to ‘splain…’Cause like…angels only know how be g-good, right? You guys…never do anything wrong?”

Every time she calls him an angel, a little piece of his inner squid dies. Yes, to be called a demon was considered racist, but that was fine because what demon has a problem with racism? However, for a demon to be called an angel was, ugh, Eleanor may as well have gutted him with the carving knife.

It’s always good to hear her speak, though, even if her sentences are broken and disjointed. Eleanor is the one human who should never be muted.

“Uhm. I guess.” He isn’t sure how to answer her assumption.

He hasn’t met many Good Place employees, the couple he has were so dimly naïve and overpolite that it almost made Michael come out in hives. He knows that they’re stupid. Eleanor probably isn’t too far off. Should he pretend to be dumber now?

“See…y-you like learnin’ what’s like to be human?” She asks, and he wonders if it was that obvious; “We don’t…always know. Not so clear…what is right ‘nd wrong…But whenever I did somethin’ wrong, was like…a little voice in my head? Telling me to stop? But I just…ignored it. And it wouldn’t go away. Not until I started…doin’ good. Bein’ ethical. Better. Make sense?”

Michael ponders her words, nodding, “I think so.”

No. No it doesn’t. It’s absolute garbage.

A voice in her head? Nothing in Eleanor’s profile had said she was schizophrenic. Is that what he’s been missing in trying to sort all of this out?

“Must be so easy…” She muses, aloud, “Always knowing…what’s right. What’s good.”

Michael winces. She has no idea.

“It’s not…” He tells her, leaning his elbows on the island; “Just because we’re told something is good doesn’t mean we know it is. I mean it’s not like there’s anyone to go to for all the answers. We just…get the names of the people to build towns for, we build the towns, we get more names. We just do as we’re told, Eleanor. It doesn’t always make sense…or feel right.”

In his case it’s names to torture but it’s how it’s always been, for as long as he can remember. He was taught that it was stupid to question and, besides, why does there need to be a ‘good reason’ to inflict pain upon humans? It’s the most fun existence anyone could have. It should be more than enough for any demon. For Michael.

Eleanor frowns, looking him up and down; “You don’t…t-talk about it outside work? With friends?”

Michael lets out a tiny laugh, before Eleanor’s sad expression tells him she was serious.

“There is no ‘outside of work’, Eleanor. It’s not how my kind does things, we don’t have relationships or hobbies or even homes.”

“F-family?”

Now that is the most ridiculous human concept he knows of. He’s not even sure why Eleanor would feel bad for him not having such a thing, given how hurt and screwed up she was by her own.

Michael shakes his head; “No families.”

“Not even like…office parties?”

“Well, if there were, I never got an invitation.” He laughs it off, a self-inflicted wound. A simple ‘no’ would have done, he didn’t need to make his existence seem anymore pathetic.

Why was he even telling her the truth, sans the angel part? He could make up anything. He could have told her he was the office stud. The king of the pearly gates. He missed the one chance he had to pretend he was someone respected and admired, someone who all his fellow employees hung off his every word, who his bosses couldn’t wait to promote and show off until he even had their jobs for himself.

Instead he’d opted to be vulnerable, to open himself up as much as he could allow with Eleanor. The loner, the outsider, the one whose radical ideas were considered inept and who was mocked for his obsession with humans in general as opposed to simply how to torture them.

“So…day we spent together…at the arcade,” she ventures, “…Had never done ‘nything like that before? In…all time?”

Michael stills.

“No. Never.”

He’d built the damn thing. He’d set it all up, he’d even picked which of the stuffed toys to go in the claw machine. He’d never imagined he would get time to play any of the games. Never thought someone would be there to enjoy it all with him. Especially not a gross, annoying human.

Eleanor makes a face; “Wow…th-that sucks, bud.”

He glances at her. A woman who had only recently returned from an unspecified amount of time being horrifically tortured in Hell is pitying him, an immortal and all-powerful demon. Or angel, whatever he is meant to be. Either way it’s ridiculous and humiliating. Michael narrows his eyes at her, pressing his palms on the table, meeting her uncertain gaze. Perhaps she now expects him to punish her for the insolence. To make her wish she was still a mute.

Instead, who knows why, Michael starts to laugh. And so does Eleanor.

Which one started first? It’s unclear.

What a pair they are. Two sad loners, cast out by their respective worlds, who both know what it’s like to crawl out of Hell. He was born there, Eleanor thrown in, but having come from a Bad Place of her own. It was so tragic that it crossed the line into comedy. When Michael watches her laugh, seeing that familiar shine of her old self illuminate the room, he thinks what a wonderful demon she would have made. And what sort of human would he be? Bad? Good? Or, like the one before him, simply human? All of everything that meant.

He finds himself leaning closer to her, the tension rising, somewhat visible to his eyes as he makes the daring leap to wade through it, to be closer to her. Eleanor’s eyelids bat beautifully, and she gazes up at him. Her lips part and he thinks, fork it, would she want to? If he was certain then…But then there’s that tiny flinch in the muscles around her eyes. A dab of fear that’s enough to stop him.

“Michael?” Eleanor asks, the laughter gone.

“Yeah?”

“Dinner’s burning.”

His eyes widen; “Oh, shirt!”

She laughs again, not as loud or clear as it once sounded, as he turns and fumbles with the oven, having completely missed the smell in all the deep discussions and weird moments. He opens the door, letting the smoke waft out. He turns and sees that there’s a sudden loss of color on her face, the overcooked smell threatening to trigger something close to the surface.

Michael passes her the plates and cutlery.

“You wanna be all good and ethical? Start by setting the table.” He tells her, sharply, knowing distraction is the best technique he can use before she has a turn. Especially when he’s too busy stopping the kitchen from burning down to give her a hug.

*

Eleanor starts to realise she had it wrong. She’d been letting herself feel guilty all this time, thinking she was holding Michael back, stopping him from doing the work that he loves. And some of that might still be true. But after their talk today, she’s starting to see that there are more layers to the mysterious godly overlord than she first thought. He wasn’t some one-dimensional goody two shoes who had all the answers.

If anything, it sounded as though he had even less than her.

She had suspected this for a while, going right back to their day together, when she had both helped and not helped him in the most classic Shellstrop fashion. It had been rather startling to see Michael so stressed, shabby and unkempt, panicking like a meerkat, complete with his own set of rocks to huddle behind. Even though her motive had been to distract him to save herself, Eleanor couldn’t deny that it had felt good to show the poor guy how to unwind, have fun and let loose. The dude had a wild streak in him that was begging to be set free.

It felt all the more meaningful, as well as heart-breaking, to know that was the first time anyone had spent time with Michael like that. As a friend. Even she hadn’t been that lonely in her thirty something years; and he’d been around for millennia. She was so afraid that any bond they had built that day had been fractured indefinitely by her confession. Yet, he came for her.

He wants her.

Wants.

She’s sure that is what she saw in his eyes, when the laughter had died down, when their faces had suddenly been so close that she could feel his breath against her skin. It’s funny how, until today, she’d assumed that angels were these wholesome, chaste, asexual nerds. Probably as smooth as a Ken doll where it was needed. She’d assumed Michael simply didn’t function like that. But she had seen that look in so many men’s eyes before. He’d come close only to then draw back before she even pointed out that their meal was about to become charcoal. 

This break, this forked up holiday, seemed to be as much for Michael as it was for her. He was getting the chance to live like a human, a huge leap from merely goggling a collection of paperclips. His casual outfits, loose shirts and jeans or khakis, spoke more Richard Gere than Orville Redenbacher. It was as if the Michael she had met before, in his office, was merely a poster Architect for Heaven, and now she knew the actor personally. And, unlike when she'd met Tom Cruise outside a Taco Bell, she wasn't disappointed at who they were beneath the costume. If anything, she felt somewhat pleased with herself for allowing Michael to be himself, if only for a 'Summer'.

Eleanor sips her margarita. It’s not bad for a first attempt, maybe could do with more orange. She doesn’t say as much to Michael who is on the other end of the sofa, eyes focused on his latest show while she pretends to read her book. Having a simple taste of alcohol again is already making her light-headed after so long without. How she has missed her old friend.

What would happen if she leaned over and kissed him now? She lets her mind take that nervous step forward, just for a second, before her imagination is brutally slapped back into place. Forking whore, get your mind out of the gutter!

She tries not to let her glass shake in her hand. She doesn’t want Michael to worry.

She wonders if it will ever not be painful for her to think about sex or kissing again.

*

She always smiles. From today, she has no choice.

Trevor’s hand on her shoulder guides her to where she should go. It’s as if she’s on wheels, cargo to be delivered on order, to whoever is first in the queue. He shoves her to someone else. There’s a whimper as she’s turned around, fingers on her waist, quivering as a weight presses against her backside. She arches, on instinct, the look on Trevor’s face enough to terrify her.

“Hardly fair if I keep you all to myself, blondie.” He tells her, his eyes threatening what will happen if she doesn’t comply; “Do as you’re told. Give them what they want.”

She can hardly resist. The only movement that’s allowed is to go with it. Please them.

These demons are larger than Trevor. What they have is not…normal. Not human. It wasn’t uncommon for Bad Place employees to alter their skin suits a little to be more creative. It’s not what the female human vagina was designed to take. There’s nowhere to accommodate the spikes. All she can do is scream.

Before that one can finish with her, she’s forced to suck on another. Somewhere, in the background, there’s the click of a phone taking a picture. Trevor’s Instagram nearly crashes from the instant Likes.

Afterwards, Trevor tugs the zip up her dress, unfazed when his human cries once it catches her tender skin. Little gripes from little sluts aren’t worth noticing.

“See what I mean? You can’t replicate shit like this.” He tells the last one left waiting to be serviced, ever since he walked through the door that had been nearly impossible to find.

A new hand grabs Eleanor’s wrist and spins her in, close, to face him.

He strokes her face, fingers brushing against the dried blood from the scars on her cheeks, where she’s recently been given her new smile from Trevor with a steak knife.

“This is incredible craftsmanship. I mean it’s diabolical, but incredible, how you managed to fix our problem!”

“Well, buddy, she’s all yours now.” Trevor slaps her ass through the torn velvet of her dress, “I just warmed her up for you.”

Eleanor trembles, terribly, eyes afraid to look up. A finger catches her chin and forces her gaze.

The fat tears leaking from her eyes juxtapose the bloody, almost comical grin that’s been carved into her lips. Tears of a clown. He could hang her own portrait on the wall. She sobs, unable to protest anymore, can no longer beg for it to stop.

She looks at him, searching for the one she’d made the mistake of knowing, of wrongly believing cared for her. She wants the mask back. She wants her stupid angel to save her. Good luck with that. Oh, dear. The betrayal has cut her deeper than any knife to the face.

“No more crying, sleepy head. You heard him. You’re mine now, as you were.”

Michael kisses her, squeezing hard at her chin, keeping her in place as she screams against his lips.

*

This time Michael doesn’t forget.

He sits upright, clothes sticking to his skin from the cold sweat, stomach twisted with rage. He’d tried to shout but, for better or worse, no sound had left him. He covers his mouth with his hand in horror, trying to smother the noise of his heavy, disturbed breathing.

He glances at the woman beside him on the bed, still fast asleep, not having so much as stirred when he’d practically shoved her from his arms. The woman who, in his head, he’d been about to…

Oh. Fork.

No. No, no, no.

Michael stumbles to the kitchen to splash his face with cold water, trying not to hyperventilate. Was that…dreaming? Is that what humans enjoyed so damn much? Letting their brains create some messed up playground of horrors that made Michael’s psychological torture feel like Disneyland? Be completely trapped as their body moves against their will, against everything they know is…?

No. Fork that shirt, man. Never again.

He grips the sink until his knuckles turn white, his chest heaving. Eleanor. Oh, Eleanor, you poor thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork credited to Star-Pepper (star-pepper.tumblr.com)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: references to sexual harrasment, Michael battles his own conditioned views on the matter, self-harm

For the past week, Michael has been acting very strange. Not that the guy was an average Joe to begin with but there seems to have been a major shift that Eleanor couldn’t understand.

Where once it had seemed like he would never run out of things to talk to her about, he’s suddenly become oddly quiet. Withdrawn. He wishes her a curt good morning when she finds him in the kitchen at the start of each day, as he no longer wakes her up with a coffee and his usual ‘morning, sleepy head’. He asks her what she’d like to eat for breakfast and then, once they’ve eaten in an uncomfortable silence, he excuses himself to go into his office, leaving her to do whatever she wants all day. Sometimes he doesn’t reappear until the sun begins to set.

Did he turn into a vampire? It’s one of the possibilities that go through her head, to start with. At first, she assumed Michael was merely giving her space to breath, to be independent again, to enjoy the almost infinite freedom and luxuries she could now ask for from Janet. Not that she took advantage of those all that much. A hissing in her head was always there to remind her not to be a greedy little shirtbag. She never asks for more than a drink, a snack or two, a change of clothes.

There’s a thousand things she wishes she had the courage to ask for. But she’s not even supposed to be in the Good Place. What right does she have to exploit it?

The sting comes after dinner, another quiet meal where for once it was Eleanor trying to do most of the talking, asking about what tutorials he was into now, what shows to binge, what he was working on in his office. Michael had kept his eyes down, glancing at some paperwork covered in a language of symbols that Eleanor couldn’t decipher with human eyes. His replies were mostly grunts and shrugs. Eventually she had given up on a conversation for the evening.

Maybe he was just busy? She’d almost lost track of their time spent here, how long he must have been away from work. He probably has a lot to catch up on, which he has her to blame for.

Eleanor takes the plates and washes them up. She wants to do something. She wants to show she can help. One slips from her hand in the sink and she flinches at the noise, her heart beating rapidly, until she sees it isn’t broken. Clumsy bench. She controls her breathing and glances over at Michael on the sofa, still engrossed in his work. She feels pathetic when she finishes cleaning them and putting it away, announcing as such to Michael, expecting some sort of praise or reward. A proverbial pat on the head.

All Michael gives her is a sideways look and; “Could’ve asked Janet.”

It wounds her. She knows that he’s right but isn’t that true for everything he does too? She’s never seen him call for Janet while she was either awake or in the room. She can’t remember ever seeing him use his angelic powers as a short-cut for any simple task or chore in this house. It meant a lot for Eleanor to be able to do these little, basic things on her own again. She thought he would understand that better than anyone.

She’d been certain that, before this week, he had.

When she tells him that she’s going to bed, he doesn’t get up to follow her. He doesn’t lay with her and hold her until she drifts off, as he has for every night recently, protecting her fragile psyche from the nightmares. Instead he looks up, briefly, his smile a forced twinge of his lips.

“G’night.” He wishes her, before looking back at his Architect files.

Eleanor tries not to cry right then.

She forces herself to turn and enter her room, putting herself to bed for the first time since Michael brought her here. Unlike getting dressed on her own or re-learning to walk, this was one task that did not fill her with a sense of freedom and elation. She climbs under the covers and rests her head, feeling incredibly cold. Empty. The bed feels too big and hard. She knows that, even if she asked Janet for a new one, it wouldn’t help. She knows what’s missing. Despite being tired, she struggles to relax, to find a way to sooth herself into a peaceful slumber the way Michael’s arms had done.

It’s unclear how long she lays there, wide awake and anxious, until her body gives into the exhaustion and she falls asleep. But even that is short-lived as a nightmare involving Trevor outside her window with a steak knife in hand causes her to sit up, panting heavily, sweat pooling in her lower back. It’s still night-time. The artificial sun isn’t even close to rising.

This is typically the part where Michael enters, having heard her scream, never straying too far. This is the part where he rushes in and wraps her up in a cuddle and makes everything okay.

The door remains closed. Maybe she didn’t scream this time or make as much noise.

Eleanor lays her head back down. She soon finds her fear replaced with a bitter taste of annoyance. She’s not sure what irritates her more, the fact that Michael decided to suddenly be all distant without even giving her a warning, or that it bothers her this much. That she’s become so clingy and dependant on his affection and support. So far removed from her old self who, fine, may have secretly longed for that idea of unconditional love but could also survive fine on her own.

The wind from the ocean rattles against her window and, with it, she can hear Trevor laughing.

When she gets up the next morning, it’s the exact same as before. Michael doesn’t even ask how well she slept. He barely says a word and Eleanor begins to feel starved of hearing his voice.

After a few days she comes to realise that this isn’t simply Michael distancing himself from her to help her. His whole attitude around her is detached and blunt. He never says anything mean or in anger. He just remains quiet, distracted, barely looking at her. She almost wishes that he would shout at her. She was used to being called every foul name under the sun. She was used to being slapped and beaten to be put in her place. She’s used to being thrown out on her ash, unwanted trash that she was.

She’s not used to…whatever the fork this is. Dull, unspoken rejection.

It makes her miss the physical torture. Almost.

*

Michael had been a straight A student. He’d been a keen learner when he began his training, centuries ago, in the Bureau of Human Affairs. There were few subjects he struggled with. Most of them were a breeze; Drama (aka Lying), Art (as in Artful Torture) and Casual Racism (especially when it came to the French) being his majors. His one weakness had been Sexual Harassment training. He’d had to bribe another demon to get to do his presentation for him and do the practical exam wearing his skin suit while the actual Michael had waited in the wings in the skin suit of a chubby brunette woman.

It wasn’t uncommon for some demons to struggle in that subject. Not every demon was like Trevor, who took to making human’s uncomfortable and exploiting their sexual insecurities like a dragon to fire. There were quite a few, like Michael, who found the idea of torturing humans that way…simply disgusting. For themselves, of course, not that they gave a crab about what the dumb humans felt. It was difficult enough getting to grips with wearing the skin of one, let alone getting…intimate. Surely it was no different than the idea of having sex with a dung beetle. Maybe Trevor and those like him would have no issue with that either.

But when it had been Michael’s turn to practice up-skirting one of his fellow apprentices in a slim, attractive blond skin suit, his hand had twitched and froze before it could so much as brush against her thigh. Everyone had laughed at him that day, including the demon he was supposed to be molesting.

He always waved it off with a comment about how grotesque humans were. Stupid, smelly, lower beings. Truthfully, however, he had looked at his colleague’s suit and knew ‘she’ was beautiful. He’d felt his own suit react in a way that was new and exciting and terribly confusing to him. His mind had flooded with images of what he could do to her, what he had been encouraged to do to her, without consequence or punishment.

It hadn’t made him any more eager to touch her in such a way, acting or no. It all seemed so…beneath him.

Luckily, he’d managed to cheat his way to passing the exam and never had a reason to put any of it into practice, or even have a reason to think about doing anything of the sort. Even when setting up his twist on the role of an Architect to be there to torture the humans in person, he never considered himself or his team using such techniques, not even to make the humans feel just the slightest bit violated.

But now, for whatever twisted reason, his mind was betraying him. His demon brain creating scenarios that were so far removed from exciting or attractive. They were torture - for him. Because Eleanor had no idea, thank the stars.

One evening Michael leaves his office, where he spends most of his time lately, to see Eleanor’s bedroom door slightly ajar, steam sneaking its way through the gap. He pauses, hearing the water slosh as she washes herself in the bath. She should really close the door. He knows that she leaves it slightly open for his own peace of mind, given what happened that first time he’d left her alone to soak. That felt like so long ago now. She’d taken many baths on her own now, she didn’t even need Michael to help her in or out anymore. She didn’t need him to dry her down or brush her hair.

She doesn’t need Michael. Not anymore. She’s okay.

Then why is it he can’t tear his eyes away from that door?

He hears the water lap gently as her body moves in the tub. He imagines her rubbing the soap against her soft skin, smooth and clear, no sign of the horrific injuries that had been inflicted on her in the Bad Place. Michael had washed that skin, ran the sponge over her naked form, rubbing her back and arms and legs as she’d sat motionless, eyes staring out into nothing. He’d massaged shampoo and conditioner into her hair, covering her eyes as he rinsed it out, then plucking her out with the utmost care, as if she were made of china, before wrapping her up safe in the fluffiest of towels. Michael had done all of that without feeling the slightest tingle of arousal.

It was as if he’d been caring for an entirely different woman to the one who was hidden from him, tonight, behind the half-closed door. One had been completely helpless and dependent, not even on the radar of attractiveness. And the other was Eleanor Shellstrop.

_She left it open for you. She’s yours. Just go take her._

Michael shudders, picturing Trevor whispering over his shoulder.

_She’ll be so moist and silky. And she’ll do anything you say. Go on, Mikey. Take a bite of that sweet Arizona peach._

He turns his back.

No.

_Oh, c’mon! Don’t be such a forking dweeb! You know you want her! Why are you holding back?_

If Michael tries anything…like that, with Eleanor, then it doesn’t matter how she reacts. It won’t matter if she fights him, spits at him, runs away. It won’t matter if she becomes all compliant, submits to her programming and lets Michael do whatever he desires with her. Either way, she will know what he is. She will realise where she is.

And his entire experiment will be over.

_Ah! I gotcha. Wow. For a second there, I thought you were starting to have some sappy feelings for the little mole rat._

Don’t be absurd.

_In that case, why not just erase her memory?_

Michael freezes. That’s a new trick he developed. A contingency in case this plan didn’t turn out as he anticipated. He had hoped it wouldn’t be necessary to use it. No doubt his boss would have all four thousand feet of his neck if he reset everything without his go ahead. However, if it was just one human, and only a small, select memory, no one would have to know.

The voice of his nemesis in his head was correct. He looks back at the door, knowing he could march in that room right now. He could do whatever he wanted to the human in his care. He could order her to pleasure him the way Trevor had ‘trained’ her and she would, most likely, obey. If she didn’t, he could do all sorts of awful things to her until she broke all over again and reverted to the submissive creature he’d found in that cell. And then, when it was over and Michael was pleasantly sated, he could wipe her memory of the whole thing. Eleanor would look at him with that same well-earned trust. It will be as if it never happened. No one would know.

Except for him. If he was a true demon, he could do it. If he really didn't care...

_This is what we are, Mikey. We’re monsters. Our only job is to be cruel, to be twisted, so we may as well make it fun. Stop trying to hide from it. Take her. Break her. Shake her like a polaroid picture._

_And be sure to send me a snapshot._

He hears the water go again and knows that Eleanor is getting herself out of the tub. He spots her shadow, that small and thin feminine silhouette, move across the tiny gap in the open door.

Michael snaps his fingers.

The door closes, as if pushed by a sudden gust of wind.

“Get the fork out of my head!” He growls to himself, turning to retreat back into his office. His private cave. He’ll stay there until she goes to sleep.

Safer that way.

*

“Janet?”

“Hi there.” The not-lady bings herself into existence beside Eleanor’s lounger; “How are you?”

That’s a question and a half.

She certainly wasn’t in the mood for discussing her feelings, especially not with a hot, socially unaware, walking Siri. Janet may be somewhat less emotionally mechanical than her previous version but it still didn’t feel the same as being around a real person when Eleanor called on her. She felt tired. Bored. Lonely.

Even reading her book brought little distraction. Instead of trying to understand the ins and outs of contractualism, every word she read reminded her of the one she wished was there to help her understand it all. The one she was seriously beginning to miss again after what felt like months of growing used to being away from.

Eleanor doesn’t answer Janet’s question. She deflects it with her own.

“Janet…I kn-now there’s no phone’s here, b-but…” She attempts, taking a glance over her shoulder to make sure Michael isn’t nearby; “…I-Is there any way I can…contact someone in the neighborhood? A-any of my friends?”

Chidi’s voice would be the biggest comfort to her right now but she would take whatever she could get. She would gladly listen to Tahani namedrop every celebrity who came to her last half-birthday party or whatever. She would even sit through Jason attempting to belch the alphabet. God, anything, just to know someone wants to talk to her.

“I’m afraid long-distance communication is impossible with only one Janet present in each neighborhood. However, I can deliver them a message from you if you’d like?”

Eleanor ponders on that. She’s never been one for writing letters or post-cards. Even her texts were always short and to the point. It always took so much more effort to think things out before writing them and then dealing with the aftermath of spelling out more than you intended to, or not getting it sound the way you intended. In short, writing was dumb.

What could she even write to them about? ‘ _Hey guys, missing you all, weather is great, still getting over my horrific, mind-melting trauma after being in Hell and my only companion is giving me the cold shoulder, wish you were here, kiss kiss_?’ Not happening.

She shakes her head at the suggestion. If she can’t speak to her friends or even do the heavenly equivalent of Skype then what is the point?

“I just…I wanna see them, that’s all. Without them s-seeing me.” Eleanor confesses, curling her knees inward again, “I wanna see they’re all okay.”

“I can assure you that Chidi, Jason and Tahani are all safe and well in the neighborhood.” Janet informs her, “And while I am unable to show you footage, I can show you a snapshot of the last time they were recently together, if it gives you peace of mind?”

Just one picture? That didn’t sound too bad. It was possibly the closest she would get to an Instagram feed here.

She nods. Yes, she wants to see them. Mostly because part of her is worried that she’s starting to forget what they even look like.

Janet waves her hand and a large still image appears in mid-air.

Eleanor feels the tears build in her eyes as she sees the them all. Her stupid, annoying, gorgeous friends all together, sat around a table in what appears to be Tahani’s garden, eating frozen yogurt. They look so happy, as if the photo was taken in the middle of a joke she missed out on. Despite the aching grief of being away from them, of not being part of this moment, she can’t help but feel relief that they’re okay. It’s a weird balance that is enough to leave her content for now.

That is until she spots the new person in the photo. A pretty woman with brown skin and big eyes, sitting next to Chidi, her hand on his thigh.

“Who…Who is that?” Eleanor frowns and points.

“That is Eleanor Shellstrop.”

Her stomach drops.

She shakes her head; “I..I’m Eleanor Shellstrop.”

“Yes, I am aware of that.” Janet explains, all too pleasantly; “This resident is also named Eleanor Shellstrop. She arrived shortly after you departed on the train to the Bad Place. She is the Eleanor Shellstrop who was supposed to be in the Good Place but whose file was mixed up with your own and she was initially sent to the Bad Place. To make it easier, I believe the residents have come to referring to her as ‘Real Eleanor’ and yourself as ‘Fake Eleanor’.”

Fake Eleanor. Real Eleanor.

Her hands begin to shake again, her chest pounding, barely able to feel the chair supporting her. The sun suddenly feels all too bright on her face.

That’s why they all look so happy. She’s been replaced.

They don’t miss her. They don’t want her back. Why would they now that they have the real thing?

“What is she like?” She dares to ask; “R-Real Eleanor?”

Janet talks about how utter kind, intelligent and selfless this new resident is. She goes through all the things that were once mistaken as Eleanor…or Fake Eleanor’s profession before. Humanitarian, famous lawyer, world savior, forking halo wearing saint. She’s told about how the residents are always talking about how charming she is, the effort she’s put in to help take care of the neighborhood in Michael’s absence, how her time in the Bad Place doesn’t seem to have affected her personality or dampened her spirit.

And, most crushing of all, how happy Chidi is to be with his true soul mate.

Janet eventually stops talking when she notices, a little too late, the tears streaming down Eleanor’s cheeks as every word pierces her heart.

“I’m sorry. I was only responding to your question with as much detail as I could…I didn’t mean to cause you any upset.” She almost looks guilty.

Eleanor angrily rubs her face.

“Just…get rid of it. P-please!”

Just so.

The photo disappears. Eleanor sits with her head in her hands, wishing she had never asked for the damn picture. She’d have preferred to let her so-called friends faces dissolve in her head if it meant never learning this new twist in her forked up afterlife.

Michael’s sporadic mood shift and social distancing was difficult enough for her to get used to. She truly had been spoiled by the affection he’d showered her with until this week. It had been something new and scary to get her head around, that she could be touched and held again without it resulting in agony, that she was safe with this person who only wanted to take care of her, not torture and debase her. Once it had finally settled in her mind, it had become the new normal for her and she’d taken it for granted by the time it was, suddenly and cruelly, taken away with no rhyme or reason.

The last ray of hope for her had been that she still had her friends to go back to. She still had Chidi. He would wait for her, she had been so sure of it. Dumbash. Stupid bench.

She had nothing. Nothing here. Nothing waiting for her back ‘home’.

It wasn’t even her home anymore. The closest thing she had to a home was the cell where everything had been lashed and beaten out of her. That was where she had belonged.

“I’ll go if there’s nothing else you need from me…” Janet says, apologetic.

Eleanor sniffs; “There is…one last thing…”

*

Michael had left a frozen lasagne he’d made earlier out on the side for Eleanor to heat up herself. He was hardly going to let her starve and lose the weight she’d managed to regain with his constant meals. If she didn’t like it, she could always ask Janet for something special.

He’d barely left his office all day, looking over reports sent in from Vicky with the latest updates on how torturing the other humans was going. Thanks to the altered time stream, it had only been a couple of weeks since he’d left for the Bad Place as far as they were aware, as opposed to the months he and Eleanor had spent here at the beach. There was, truthfully, very little for him to go over, but he found a way to drag it out for as long as it kept him there.

Away from her. The farther away he is, the less he hears Trevor’s voice against his ear. The less he sees Eleanor, the less he feels the creeping temptation to…

He blinks, rapidly, looking down at the reports.

Ugh, his employees original ideas for torture were so lacking in originality. They seem to have tried to get Tahani to throw a garden party only for the pleasant weather to turn to a lightning storm that exploded her prize ice sculpture. Come on guys, be a bit more subtle! They can’t just resort to exploding everything, this isn’t a classic lava pit for Hell’s sake.

Michael glances at the window, the one that’s invisible from the outside to stop a certain nosy human peeking in, to see the sun has set. Eleanor should be in bed by now.

Good, he can get back to watching Stranger Things; the most adorable show ever about a bunch of cute monsters escaping creepy children.

He leaves the office and is relieved to find the living room and kitchen in darkness, lit up only somewhat from the perfect star-filled sky outside, which he is proud to say he designed himself. Eleanor’s bedroom door is closed. He lets out a sigh of freedom.

Michael flicks the light switch and goes to the kitchen, almost immediately tripping up on an outstretched leg he failed to spot.

“Ow! What the-?” He stumbles and turns around.

“Have a nice trip, bud?”

Eleanor giggles up from where she’s sat on the kitchen floor, back against the fridge, bottle of tequila in hand.

Michael frowns at the state of her.

“Eleanor? Are you drunk?” It’s a rhetorical question, really, he can see every wave of intoxication radiating off of her.

She snickers again, her eyes red and puffy; “Noooo…Yes!”

He looks across the worktop, seeing that the meal he'd left for her hasn't been touched. Has she eaten anything all day? Is the only thing in her system right now a load of neat liquor? 

“Why?”

“B-because…” She reaches up to grab at the fridge door handle and pulls herself, unsteadily, to her feet, pulling the fridge open as she does and swaying into it to close it again, “Yooou said…this is ma’ house! And I can do what I want! Right? I can…eat crab, watch shirt and get drunk.”

Fair enough, he did say those things, more or less. Not quite as vulgar.

“This wasn’t quite what I had in mind.” He tells her. A couple of margaritas on the patio, before bed, during one of their talks. A little bit tipsy. Carefree.

Not getting completely hammered.

“Oh, what then? A glass of wine? Romance, candles? Janet playing one of those…sideways piano compressor things?”

Michael tilts his head; “Accordion?”

“What? No! Ugh, doesn’t matter.” She dismisses, cradling the bottle under her arm, her other hand holding onto the worktop; “Either way, there is only one true Shellstrop way to get drunk and this is it! This is what I am! Take it or leave it, angel buddy, ‘cause it’s what you’re stuck with!”

He tries not to wince at being called an angel again.

“If I’d known this is what is what it took to get you talking again, I would’ve force fed you all the booze in Janet’s void the day we got here.” He jests, a little, watching her sway on her feet, “As is, I think you’ve had enough for one night. C’mon, put the bottle down and go to bed.”

Eleanor’s expression hardens in a way he thought was no longer possible for her. The hysterical laughing mess he’d found barely a minute ago is long gone. She tries her best to straighten up, legs still wobbly. She’s still only dressed in her bikini from where she’d been sunbathing and covered in Michael’s old shirt that he’s long given up on expecting back any time soon.

She takes a deep breath, her eyes red raw.

“No.”

Michael looks at her. Had it been any other context, he would have smiled, he would have rewarded her for such a gargantuan leap in confidence.

“Well done, you said no. I’m very proud. Now get to bed!” He says, tersely. He does not have the strength to deal with a wasted human right now.

She bares her teeth; “I said…No!”

Michael meets her gaze. There’s too many emotions on her face, too many confusing energies in her aura, for him to get a grasp on. He doesn’t have time for this. He should not have to deal with any of this, it’s well above his pay grade. He never asked to have to deal with a forked up, mentally twisted human. This is Trevor’s screw up and yet he’s the one having to fix it up. He should have complained to Shawn right away, explained how this had jeopardised so much, instead of agreeing to take on…this.

He watches the drunk Eleanor glare at him, daring him to do…something. Who knows what. All these months, he’s been fighting to get her strong, stubborn streak back and now it’s here, ready and primed to drive Michael up the wall. Be careful what you wish for, indeed. Maybe he should leave her to it. Maybe pour a glass for himself? They could unwind together, have a laugh, he could watch her cry, revel in her drunken misery like he was supposed to.

“Fork it…!”

Michael moves forward, anger pushing his feet, striding out as he reaches to snatch the bottle from Eleanor’s grip.

She screams. Fingers spring open. The bottle falls.

It smashes at her feet and Michael stops dead in his tracks.

He must have moved faster than he intended to. His eyes must have betrayed his rising frustration with her. He looks at her, what color she had regained from her recent time outdoors suddenly drained, hands clasped over her mouth. Her eyes have that same far away, deer in headlights look as before.

Had that really been all it took to trigger a flashback like that? Maybe…he’d overestimated her progress.

Michael glances down at the floor. He sees the pieces of broken glass catch the moonlight. They surround her bare feet, some large, others tiny, all of them capable of hurting her if she so much as moves a muscle. Not even a litre of liquid courage is enough to hold back to the panic she’s suffering from right now. She had attempted to bring the old Eleanor back. It was nothing but a drunken performance.

“Stay still. Don’t move.” He crouches down, carefully.

He feels the heat rise inside of him, his essence pulsating, as his hand reaches closer to her naked feet. Legs. She’s hardly wearing anything, really. Nothing that can’t be easily torn off. That shirt is his anyway. He’d be perfectly in the right to snatch it off her shoulders and leave her exposed. Vulnerable. Ready for the taking.

His hand starts to tremble as he imagines Trevor standing behind her right now, his grabby fingers on her waist, dipping below to slide into her bottom piece, his mouth on her neck, teeth nibbling all too hard on her skin.

_Jealous, Mikey boy? You shouldn’t be. This is your chance._

_She’s drunk as a skunk, she’s dressed like a thirsty lil thot…and she’s all yours._

Michael snaps his fingers.

Every shard and fleck of glass from the floor levitates up and into his hands without needing to put them any closer. He reels back, away from Eleanor’s legs, standing up with the glass held in his hands. He sees her eyes following him, probably aware that it’s one of the few times he’s used magic in such a way since he manifested the bath in her room. He can feel the sweat on his forehead as he squeezes his palm against one of the sharper pieces. Ah. That helps.

He wishes he could bleed. He knows that a deep, powerful attack could risk piercing his skin suit. That would cross the line from catharsis to a catastrophic disaster.

“M-Michael…” Eleanor frowns, seeing him tense up.

Is she worried? About _him_?

He shakes his head; “I’ll be fine.” He can’t say it doesn’t hurt. That’s the whole point. It doesn’t hurt _enough_.

She moves forward, unbalanced, reaching out to touch his hand.

Michael steps back and opens his palm, revealing the glass to be all gone.

“See? Hey, presto. It’s like it never happened.” He waves his fingers, as if performing one of those human magic tricks. He shows her his hand, front and back. No scars. Nothing to worry about.

The fact that she, a human…or anyone for that matter, worries for him…

Eleanor lets out a sob, the tequila still putting her through a roller coaster of emotions, her constitution even less prepared to handle them as she used to be. Michael holds himself back from hugging her. He dare not risk summoning Trevor’s ghost again.

“You wanna tell me what brought this all on?” He asks, softly, still keeping a distance.

She wipes her nose with the back of her hand; “Oh, like you care. You’ve b-barely spoken to me all week…You can’t even come near me…”

He blinks. He hadn’t expected her to take it this hard. Surely, she was happy to have her space?

“I’ve…been busy. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m supposed to be running a neighborhood for three hundred and twenty-one other souls – it’s not all about you.” He tries to bluster, to excuse himself.

“It’s not supposed to be about me at all!” She rages, face red, “I’m not supposed to be here! So why the fork do you care? You don’t need me here! You have Real Forking Eleanor now, why do you care about keeping the Fake?!”

Oh, shirt.

“You know about…Real Eleanor?” He asks, taken aback. He hadn’t expected that. He regrets not preparing for it in advance, he wouldn’t feel so at a loss right now.

Eleanor screws up her nose; “I asked Janet if I could see my friends and she showed me a photo of them…with her. Having fun with their new friend. Chidi with his…real soul mate…”

Her face crumbles as the tears fall again.

Michael sighs; “Oh, Eleanor. I’m sorry. I was going to tell you, before we went back, honest. I just thought after…everything…you didn’t need something else to bum you out just yet.”

That manages to get a tiny laugh out of her, through her tears, ironic or not.

“Listen,” He takes a small step closer, feeling a little safer to, “All you saw was a photograph. You can’t assume from that anything about how much your friends miss you. Chidi would not leave me alone for that week you were first gone until I was able to come get you. Just because they like Real Eleanor doesn’t mean they won’t still want you.”

She scoffs, “Great. I get to look forward to being called Fake Eleanor so people can tell the difference!”

Ah, so she’s already aware of that as well. Darn it.

Michael dares to reach forward, his hand against her hair; “Hey. She might be Real Eleanor to them. But you’ll always be My Eleanor. You're the one I want to keep in the Good Place, no matter what anyone says. Okay?”

She looks up at him, mouth open slightly.

“…Really?”

Michael smiles, “The one and only, as far as I’m concerned.”

Mostly because Real Eleanor didn’t exist. But it didn’t matter. There could be a hundred girls called Eleanor Shellstrop and none of them would hold a candle to his one. Even the most famous and interesting humans Michael had known and tortured in his time failed in comparison to his Eleanor. She was as rare and precious as a black swan, or a genuine compliment on Twitter.

Eleanor’s eyes scan him up and down. She darts forward, without warning, grabbing his shirt collar and standing on her toes to kiss his lips. Michael stills, caught off guard, a warm buzz holding them together for a brief moment, before he takes hold of her arms and gently pushes her back.

That…had not been as gross as he always thought it would be, even with Eleanor’s breath stinking of booze. He bites his lip, trying not to think of that…dream…from the other night.

_Blood on her cheeks. Deep scars either side of her sliced lips. Petrified tears in her eyes._

_Michael grinning with pleasure as he forced her into his grip. Trevor laughing in the background._

_Damn it. No, damn it all._

“You don’t want me…” Eleanor is the first to speak, sounding utterly defeated.

Michael feels winded; “No, Eleanor, it’s not…You’re the one who doesn’t want this. Not really.”

Her brow creases in anger.

“What the fork do you know about what I want?” She whispers, bitterly.

“Because I know everything about you.” Michael tells her, bluntly; “Remember? I read your whole file, I know exactly how your mind works, and how when you’ve been hurt over a guy, you immediately jump to the nearest one you can find to be your rebound. That’s all this is, Eleanor. You saw the guy you were developing feelings for get with someone else and now you’re looking for me to make it go away but I can’t, okay? I wish I could but even I don’t have that power.”

Another lie. He could erase her memories of seeing the photo. But then who was to say she wouldn’t find it again? Or discover the truth about Real Eleanor when she arrived? It seemed pointless.

Eleanor looks caught out. She wipes her eyes and steps back, embarrassed.

“Also, you’re absolutely wasted right now, so it still wouldn’t be right.” He tells her, more gently this time, considerate.

She gives him a mocking grin; “This is where you start being all moral? You forget…I know you too. You don’t even know what’s right or wrong…You just do as you’re told. Good little angel boy.”

“I’m not an angel, for crying out loud.” He tells her, partly the truth; “It’s not the correct…Look, I don’t have all the answers, no, but I know you. And I know you deserve better than some miserable, drunken fumble that you’ll regret in the morning. You deserve…better, Eleanor.”

Michael hadn’t realised how much closer he’d been getting to her until now.

His hand was still stroking her hair, very little space left in the gap between them. He looks down at her, seeing both the broken creature he was sworn to take care of, and the beautiful human woman he was hopelessly falling for despite everything in his system telling him how wrong it was. As he lets himself touch her now, he knows more than anything in his existance that he could not hurt her. Not in a thousand years. He doesn’t hear Trevor anymore. Just his own voice telling him what an idiot he is.

Eleanor shudders and looks up at him, seeming so small.

“I thought….You were sick of me or something.” She tells him, bottom lip wobbling; “I thought I’d done something wrong…H-he said you didn't want me back...”

“No! No, sweet girl, never,” Michael touches her face, suddenly hating himself; “I just wanted to give you some space, to get used to being on your own. I never meant to make you….”

He allows her to hug him, letting her partly collapse drunkenly into his arms. He rests his chin on top of her head, breathing in the salted scent of her hair from where she’d been swimming earlier. He’d stood at the window and watched her, for a few minutes, imagining how simple his life would be if a shark were to appear and eat her whole, take away the biggest problem in his life right now. And leave behind the boring, pointless chasm that had been there before. Boring, lonely…but simple.

Michael kisses her forehead, “I’m sorry, Eleanor.”

The intoxicated human hasn’t a single clue what for.

She hiccups against his shirt, still very tipsy; “ _Your_ Eleanor?”

Michael hums. He really is lost.

“Yeah. My Eleanor.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: .....actually this is mostly fluff, some mention of torture.

Believe it or not, there is a downside to not having a hangover. Eleanor was more than grateful for the lack of a headache or bone-dry throat when she woke, instead feeling refreshed and comfy, as she did every morning here. Sadly, the clarity in her head meant having a clear recollection of everything she did in her tequila-fuelled state.

Oh…shirt.

She cringes, curling her legs up close, wishing she could hibernate there forever. She’d tried to kiss…God damnit. Well, not quite God, but as close as she was probably going to get to know. She’d also broken a bottle, made a mess, tripped him up, mocked him, made an idiot of herself…Classic Shellstrop going back to her old ways. The alcohol is out of her system, along with the boost of confidence it had gifted her with, just for a night. She feels…ashamed. Humiliated.

No wonder Michael had stayed away from her. He had tried for so long to pretend she was someone worth caring for but, in the end, not even an immortal, celestial deity could keep denying what she was. Filthy. Wrong. Slut.

She should apologise. She should try to prove she’s not-

Eleanor feels a weight shift against her.

She opens her eyes, the early orange sun in her window hanging neatly above the blue horizon. The light isn’t too harsh, it doesn’t cause the nerves in her eyes to burn or make her want to hide away. It’s gorgeous. It’s as if it was a scene painting simply for her to wake up to, filling her lungs with an air of peace and safety. She notes that she’s been dressed in loose pyjamas. She moves her hand and notices there is another wrapped around her tummy that’s not her own.

Looking down to examine it, she brushes her own petite fingers against these longer ones on the t-shirt over her stomach. She gently turns it around, smoothing her thumb across the palm, almost expecting to see a scar of some sorts. Hey, presto, all gone. Like it never happened.

Wait.

She slowly turns around to find Michael lying beside her. His eyes are closed, glasses skewed on the edge of his nose, almost crumpled against the pillow. Eleanor carefully takes them off before they break, putting them beside her bedside lamp. He doesn’t stir and it hits her that it’s the first time she’s really seen him be asleep. Silly liar had told her he couldn’t. Did he even know he was capable? Was this the first time an angel had ever just…chilled?

Eleanor watches him for a few immeasurable moments, counting the lines on his face, tracing them in her mind. The picturesque sunrise at her window suddenly paled in comparison to looking at Michael’s resting expression and the overwhelming gratitude it brought her. He’d seen her in her true trashbag state last night, yet here he was. With her. Holding her. Lying together in the most tender innocence when they both had the option for the night to go a whole other direction. One which, in the gentle light of day, Eleanor admits would have been a mistake.

And not just for the reason that Michael said, that she deserves better. Because he does too.

Ever so carefully, she slides out from his arm and pads out to the kitchen.

Eleanor returns a few minutes later, walking slow and steady, hands trying not to drop the breakfast tray in her hands. She does her best to block out the tell-tale voice in her head, calling her clumsy, warning her she’s about to drop it and make a mess and cause him to lose his temper.

No, no, fork off.

She sits down on the bed just as her companion starts to wake.

“Morning, sleepy head.” Eleanor teases back at him, for once, feeling a strange swell of pride at being the first to get up for once.

Michael gives his amused hum. He rubs at his eyes, frowning, until Eleanor hands him his glasses.

He slowly sits up, sliding the frames over his ears.

“’Told ya, I don’t sleep.” He mumbles, complete with a yawn to cap things off.

She giggles, sitting back and handing him his cup of coffee; “You sleep. And snore. Like, not constant, but it’s like this random honk every few hours, it’s so weird.”

Michael opens his eyes, fully, looking rather insulted.

“Eleanor, I am an immortal being who can see in nine dimensions and who has the powers of a demi-god in this realm I created. I – do – not – snore.” He says, his voice deep and supposedly intimidating, before taking a sip of his coffee.

Eleanor rolls her eyes; “Hey Janet.”

“Hi there.” Janet appears, bright and breezy, beside the bed.

“Can you play a recording of Michael snoring, please?”

“Certainly.”

Janet looks as smug as Eleanor feels when she opens her mouth and plays the sound of the rhythmless grunts and snorts that have risen from Michael at different times of the night which Eleanor has had the privilege of being awake to listen to and then attempt to sleep through. With difficulty.

“Thanks, babe. That’s all.” Eleanor wishes Janet away, which she does.

Michael is continuing to glare at Eleanor over his coffee mug.

“I think I preferred it when you couldn’t talk.”

She lets that slide and manages to melt him again by handing him his breakfast, the first time she’s been the one to prepare any meal for both of them. Sure, it’s only porridge and maple syrup, but she’s still a rookie. And certain equipment in the kitchen still triggers some rather painful flashbacks for her. She has to let the kettle cool for a bit, the hot steam on her skin reminding her of scalding water dribbled on her back, branding her with a word Trevor wouldn’t reveal to her.

Once he’s finished his, Michael gives a satisfied sounding hum and puts the bowl aside, then placing his arm around her shoulders. Eleanor shuffles in close as she finishes her own.

“Very nice, thank you.” He smiles at her, “You’re doing amazing. You know that?”

She shrugs, feeling bashful. That’s a very non-Shellstrop sensation.

“It’s just porridge and coffee. Even a cooking dunce like me can't screw that up.” It used to be so easy for her to take praise and compliments because, obviously, she was awesome.

That Eleanor, so full of bluster, has yet to fully resurface. That’s if she even exists anymore.

“You’re trying. That’s what’s important. You've come so far and you've not given up. I’m proud of you.” He tells her, earnestly.

Eleanor sniffs and swallows her oats; “All right…Don’t go making me spill tears into my breakfast, man.”

“It’s what you deserve for making fun of my snoring.”

Only a couple of weeks ago, a comment like that, even jokingly, would’ve caused her to panic and shake. What she deserved. Where she belonged. Lessons learned and learned and then stopped and followed by new lessons that said the opposite. It had all been so confusing, resulting in a migraine and exhaustion on a daily basis. Now it felt much simpler. A little nauseating at times, but simpler.

Eleanor gives him a playful nudge and eats the last spoonfuls of her porridge, making sure to lick all the syrup off her spoon. Not letting that go to waste. Never mind that they had an endless supply.

Part of her knows this sweet existence cannot last. All good things are only temporary when they come into Eleanor’s life or afterlife. Even if she never has to go back to the Bad Place, which she tells herself won’t happen because Michael has promised it to be so, there’s still a different set of problems waiting for when she gets back to the neighborhood. When she has to meet Real Eleanor and find out if her friends still want her around. Chidi had watched her leave with tears in his eyes. But he had his real soul mate to dry those for him now. Tahani had referred to her as a fond street cat. Jason had been too upset for words. That’s not to mention all the other people who distrusted her, who knew she was the cause of their paradise going bust.

“I’m not ready to go back.” She tells her friend, releasing the bubble of fear growing inside her; “I’m sorry, Michael, I can’t…N-not yet.”

He squeezes her in close, rubbing her arm; “That’s okay. Like I said before, we’ll only go back when you’re ready. No sooner. Promise.”

Eleanor nods; “Thank you.”

She had been afraid that the reason he had distanced himself, to encourage her to be by herself and independent, had been out of a rush to hurry things so they could get back. True, she’d managed just fine without Michael constantly at her side, checking on her, holding her hand when she felt unsteady on her feet. She carried on. She did not break. But she’d also felt more aware than ever of how lonely she was, while at the same time scared to face anyone except the person with her right now. The one who had carried her out of Hell.

“So now that we’ve agreed that angels and demons can sleep…” She begins, wanting to change track.

“I don’t remember ever conceding that.”

“Does that mean you dream as well?” Eleanor asks, ignoring his comment, “You looked like you were. What do angels dream of?”

“They dream of annoying little humans actually remembering, for once, that they hate being called ‘angels’.” Michael snarks at her.

Eleanor gives him a look, tilting her head. C’mon.

Michael sighs; “I…try not to dream, if I can help it. Tried it out once and…it wasn’t pretty.”

“Nightmare?”

He doesn’t look at her, his eyes staring out at the opposite wall for a moment.

Michael nods.

“What about?”

“Oh…Just, stupid, mind-melding, fifth dimension chaos, your primitive mind wouldn’t be able to imagine.” He laughs off and Eleanor can tell he’s lying to deflect; “I don’t even remember clearly, just that it was terrifying and, yeah, I don’t envy you. That’s one human experience you can keep to yourselves.”

The look on his face is so pained. Tired. It’s the same expression he had the night before, when he was gripping those broken shards of glass all too tight in his hand.

“Was I in them?” She wants to know.

Is that egotistical of her to ask? Not everything has to be about her. The dude has been around since the beginning of time. He’s probably got a lot more things to dream about other than one, measly human.

“Yes.” He confesses; “And no. Because, in the dreams, you’re not where you’re supposed to be. And I have to look for you. I know where you’ve gone, I know where you’re being taken…but I don’t get there in time. Stupid nightmare always ends before I can save…”

His fingers grip around the coffee mug in his lap, the others tightening on her elbow.

“Don’t really see the point of dreaming that when I’ve already got the memory of the real thing. Seems like a crabby hobby.” He scoffs, lip twitching; “I much prefer the dreams I can make up myself. In those ones, I can get to you in time. Take you off the train before it can leave. I can do it a million times and in every, single one I save you.”

Eleanor sighs and leans her head against his chest.

“Dummy. You already did.”

*

She looks amazing, Michael thinks when he finds her on the patio a few days later. She’s wearing a simple, cotton dress and matching blue sandals. Most days she just changes out of her pyjamas into a sunbathing outfit, slipping on Michael’s shirt when she wants to cover up. She’s made an effort to tidy herself up a little, hopefully for no one’s benefit except her own self-esteem. Her hair is so long now, past her shoulders, only partly tied back, done all by herself.

Michael still remembers the state of it when he found her in that cell. A tangled, uneven mess with clumps clearly having been recently torn out or singed. If he did a side by side comparison, one probably wouldn’t believe they were the same woman. There’s still a stiffness to her movements and an uncertainty in each step. Her smile, though real, never quite reaches her eyes like it once did.

But she’s here. Eleanor Shellstrop. He feels as though he’s started to find her at last.

He walks to her, seeing her leaning on the wall with her book in her hands. He can see from her expression that she’s not really taking the words in. Good, it’s all nonsense anyway.

“More studying?” he asks.

She gives a shrug; “Not really much else to do. I don’t really feel like swimming today and it’s too nice out here to be inside, watching TV.”

“And you think those are your only options?” Michael raises his eyebrow; “You heard me say that you’re in the Good Place, right? Like, about forty or so times by now?”

“I don’t wanna keep asking Janet for stuff. She’s got this whole micro-universe on her plate.”

Michael plucks the book from her hand and Eleanor lets him. That says enough to him about how into it she really was. He tosses it, lightly, onto the table.

“Janet isn’t the only one who can make dreams come true here.” He says, holding out his hand.

True, all his ‘powers’ here were mainly his intentions and ideas channelled through Janet into its reality, but that was the gift which was granted to every Architect when they wanted to make quick modifications to their design.

Eleanor smiles, indulging him and placing her hand in his.

He walks her down the steps to the beach, leading her across the sand. The tide is quite far out now, small waves lapping gently into the shore, the wind a warm breeze that just about makes Eleanor’s dress flutter without ruining her hair.

“Please tell me we’re not gonna make sand-castles.” She jokes, only to groan when she sees Michael’s eyes light up; “No, dude, they’re so lame! And they never look right, they always end up these crumbling little mole hills, which honestly ask to be kicked over by the first kid who sees it so it’s not even bullying!”

“Okay, what about this one?”

He snaps his fingers.

There’s a rumble as the ground starts to shift. Eleanor clutches onto Michael’s hand as the sand beneath their feet suddenly rises up around them, forming into high walls, archways, long corridors and towers. She gasps and carefully feels the surfaces around her, testing how solid they are, while still definitely being the same sand they had walked across. Held in place by not-angel magic. Michael watches as Eleanor gawps at the size of it all, a genuine life-size sand-castle.

Surely even she can’t deny, this is the dream of each and every kid who made these things, only to be met with disappointed when the result looked less like what they imagined than a McDonald’s burger did to the photo on the menu.

“What do you think? Not bad for my first try?” Michael grins, knowing that it’s a rather simplistic and classic medieval castle layout, but considering he came up with it on the fly he’s rather proud of it.

“No…Not bad at all.” Eleanor laughs and tugs him up along a hallway towards the staircase.

Despite the material, everything feels sturdy around them. No chance of falling through or being buried alive here. Michael wouldn’t mind one day trying that game of burying a human in sand up to their neck, which he’s certain is a torture method that human children created, perhaps in another time. Maybe with Chidi.

“Can you imagine Tahani here?” Eleanor asks him, then proceeding to put on an exaggerated British accent; “Oh, toodly doo, this is simply nowhere as fancy as my royal grandmama’s summer home! Where are all the sand scones and sand teacakes?”

“Why, right here, m’lady!” Michael joins in, his own impersonation a little better; “Can I interest you in some sand sauvignon from the sand wine cellar? It’s a little bit dry, I warn you!”

The two of them chortle together, arm in arm, their laughter echoing through the halls.

After a brief tour of all the furniture and rooms crafted purely out of sand, they exit onto the balcony. It faces back to their beach house, now below them. Eleanor carefully treads closer to the railing, looking across the trees and the mountains that surround them, that keep them hidden and protected away from everyone else. It would be the first time she had a real good look at all their surroundings here.

Michael slides his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her head when she leans back.

“And for my next trick? Hmm?” He hums to her; “I can turn the house into a real castle, if you want. Complete with a moat? You can have all the tiaras you want, you don’t have to steal any from fifteen year olds again.”

She stills a little in his arms. He quickly realises his mistake.

Shirt. Old habits die hard.

“Hey, I was only joking.” Michael rubs her arms down.

She nods; “I know…I just…I don’t wanna be that person again. I don’t need any of that stuff to be happy.”

Michael pulls away, a little, to look at her properly.

“Are you happy here, Eleanor? With me?”

She bats her eyelids, smiling at him; “’Course I am. I told you, I wanna stay here longer.”

“Do you want to stay because you’re happy or because you feel safe?”

Eleanor bites her lip, looking as though she’s under interrogation. Michael doesn’t mean to give that impression. But, the more she improves and grows, the more difficult she is to read. It’s what made her so fascinating before but, as he now has a duty of care, he needs it to be clear how she’s feeling so he knows how to fix something or when he’s forking it up.

She rings her hands in front of her.

“I…I’m not sure if I know the difference anymore…” She admits, a little sad; “There was a time I didn’t think I would get to see the sun again, let alone everything else I’m doing now. It doesn’t always feel…real. Like it’s gonna all fall through my fingers any second, like this sand.”

She scoops up a handful from the rail and allows it to slip away. Michael gets the metaphor.

He snaps his fingers and the sand moves back up, as if time was reversing, moving back into her hand. This time it stays put.

“Very funny.” Eleanor groans.

“My point being, it’s not going anywhere. It’s yours for as long as you desire. No one can take it away and, if they try, I can just bring it straight back to you.” Michael explains for her simple, human brain.

She gazes down at her hand, moving the sand around with her thumb.

“He always took things from me…just when I was getting used to them.”

Michael takes a deep breath. Okay. So, they are doing this, at last. He hadn’t imagined that a giant sand-castle he created would be the spot but, that’s the afterlife for you.

He lets her continue.

“He’d rip off my hair, then let it grow back, before tearing it off again.” Eleanor says, holding onto the railing as her shoulders start to shake; “He once broke both my legs…then fixed them up and opened the door. He told me that…y-you’d changed your mind and said I could come back…That I was free to go. I knew he was lying but…I had to try…take that small chance, y’know.” She clenches her jaw; “I took one step out the door…a-and he…”

Michael reaches for her hand, holding it gently, the suspended clump of sand held safe between them.

“It’s okay. I’m here.”

“…He’d put some razor wire across the room, that I couldn’t see. I went to rush out, run for the exit, and they both just…got sliced off…I barely even felt them go. And then…w-when I was on the floor, he…Ugh, you know what he did.”

Of course, he knows.

Michael has long stopped being surprised at the brutal, twisted torture methods Trevor is capable of. It’s a constant battle within to stop himself from flying into a murderous rage when he pictures that creep so much as laying a hand on Eleanor, let alone mutilating her, giving her false hope only to snatch it away, to violate her body and mind until both have been reprogrammed into something beyond her control.

“You can always talk to me about what happened, if it helps.” He assures her, as agonising as it is to listen to. It’s not as if Michael was the one who really suffered.

“Thank you. It’s just…I don’t wanna be making you feel even more guilty.”

Is that what that whole after-sad feeling he kept getting was?

“None of it is your fault, Michael. You only did what you thought was right. And it probably was. Needs of the many outweigh the few, as Kant says.”

“Wrath of _Khan_. That’s Star Trek.” He knows only because he binge watched those movies the other night and cried like a baby when Spock sacrificed himself.

“Ah, same thing.” She waves off; “Either way, you gotta put the other three hundred or so people ahead of me. It’s only fair.”

Michael shakes his head; “I don’t think that’s fair at all. It’s not fair on you. It’s not fair on me or your friends who would miss you. And if I was just to say, screw you Eleanor, and let you go right now, everything we’ve been through up till this point will have been for nothing. And I choose not to accept that, no matter what anyone says.”

“I see. So, your rule is that no one can disagree with your rules? According to Chidi, that’s called tyranny. Not that I disagree or anything.”

Tyranny, shmyranny.

Surely a devil is the best one equipped to be a tyrant?

“Well, if it works.” Michael says, still holding onto Eleanor’s hand. If it kept those he cared about, which in this case was one single human, safe.

She gives a wry smile, “Very Old Testament, God bud.”

“We’ve moved on from angel to God now? Oh, I am very tempted to push you off this balcony!” He pulls her into his arms, almost making a show of wrestling her towards the edge, before pulling back.

She laughs as she struggles. It’s the most wonderful sound in all the multiverse. Eleanor grins up at him, pushing back only lightly, knowing full well he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

Her trust is absolute. Unbreakable.

Michael wouldn’t dare to test it with the truth that’s hidden from her.

*

The castle stops being special after a short while. There’s only really so much you can do to make sand fun, not for lack of Michael trying his best. Once they’re outside, Michael snaps his fingers, and it’s almost as cool as the structure itself to watch it all crumble down like a golden waterfall.

After that, he snaps two unicorns into existence. Eleanor has never ridden a horse in her life, let alone a mystical and mythical beast. Michael helps her up and quickly teaches her how to sit properly in her saddle and hold the reigns. There is no risk of her being bucked off, he assures her, so she’s fine so long as she keeps her back straight and holds on tight. He mounts his own and they set off on a steady walk to start off.

It’s daunting at first, a little scary, even though she’s certain she had been on a few bucking broncos in her past, typically with a lot more alcohol vibrating through her bloodstream. She slowly settles into the motion, looking sideways at Michael, who is rocking the fantasy cowboy look right now in his denim shirt and boots, he’s just missing the hat. She strokes her unicorn’s violet mane, smooth as silk, glittering in the sunlight. She dare not touch the horn. It seems inappropriate for some reason.

After a mile or so, she starts to feel a little more adventurous. Michael encourages her to give a light kick, putting the steed into a trot. He tells Eleanor to keep her back straight and a firm grip with her legs as well as her hands.

“Look at you! You’re a natural.”

“Fork yeah, I am!” Eleanor laughs, aloud, feeling the confidence rise in her chest again, without any need of tequila this time; “Watch this, Mikey, m’boy!”

She gives the unicorn another kick, a little harder this time, pushing it into a canter. They ride on far, ahead of Michael, dashing along the seemingly endless stretch of sand. The wind rushes through her hair, carrying a cloud of pink, sparkly dust, and she can’t help but let out a scream of energy that’s been growing inside of her each passing day for the past few months. Not a scream of terror or scream of joy. A scream for every single emotion that’s been bubbling away like a cauldron in her head. All the fear, all the trauma, all the doubt, all the comfort, all the darkness, all the light, manifests itself in that sound as she cheers her glittery horse to go even faster.

Behind her, she can just about hear Michael calling for her to slow down. Be careful. Wait for him.

No. No she’s done waiting.

She waited for him for god knows how long in that cell. A week to him but to her? She might never know. She never wants to know. That’s all behind her now. She can ride as fast and free from all that bullshirt as she wants. There’s tears on her cheeks but all she can do is smile. Smile and laugh, wanting to go so fast that she breaks the sound barrier, if that’s a thing unicorns can do.

“WOAH! YEAH! FORK YOU, TREVOR, YOU PIECE OF SHIRT!” She yells out to the sky, hoping the son of a bench can hear her from way down below or whatever direction Hell is from here.

She pumps her fists to the sky, feet loosening in her stirrups. Despite Michael’s assurance, she loses all of her grip in the moment and flies backwards as the unicorn decides to buck itself forward.

Eleanor tumbles into the sand, face first. She drowns in all the colors of the rainbow.

*

Michael catches up to her spot in a mortal heartbeat, quickly jumping down from his own mount and rushing over to where his human lay motionless in the sand.

“Damnit, Eleanor! I told you to wait!”

He turns her over, only to find her laughing up at him. A look of hysterics. Unicorns tended to have that effect on first time riders. It was something in their manes, an essence which was almost like a very light trip of acid the faster you rode them. It was why he had wanted Eleanor to take it slow, at least to start, just to get a small, fizzy high rather than a face full of pixie dust.

She starts laughing about how she can see his halo and Michael rolls his eyes.

“C’mon, Crazy High Eleanor, I think it’s time we went back home.” He lifts her up onto his own unicorn, snapping the other one that’s ran off out of existence.

He climbs up too, placing her between himself and the horses mane. Probably not the best seat to ensure she doesn’t get more of a hit but, so long as they go slow, she shouldn’t get too much to make her any worse. He keeps one arm around her middle, holding her to him, while his other hand takes the reigns and he steers them back to the beach house.

Eleanor is limp and chuckling as she leans back against him. She glances up at the stars as they begin to come out from the dusk sky.

“Am I at the dentist?”

Michael snickers; “Yes, Eleanor, you’re at the dentist. Your dentist was a unicorn.”

“That checks out.” She bursts into giggles again.

Once they're back and the last unicorn sent back to whatever dimension Michael is able to summon them from, it takes about ten minutes for Eleanor to burn out. He sits with her on the pier as the focus slowly starts to come back to her eyes. It’s not as unpleasant as most come downs, just a slight downer, after getting to experience every positive emotion you could imagine in one wild ride.

Eleanor groans as Michael watches her return to Earth, mentally. There’s still a smile on her face as she leans into him, looking a little spent.

“That…was pretty cool.” She murmurs and pokes his side; “Admit it. I made a hot unicorn cowgirl....Unicow girl?”

“It’s impossible for me to judge physical attractiveness in humans.”

She gives him a sharp nudge to the ribs; “Liar, liar, why you lyin’?”

Michael sighs. If only she knew the extent of all his lies. He imagines telling her now, when she’s not even sure if the sky is up or the water is down. What would she think if he told her what he really was? Where she really was?

“Fine. You were pretty hot.”

“You weren’t so bad yourself.” She smiles at him, so close. Her little nose is scrunched in a way that is too adorable for him to handle.

Is she going to try to kiss him again? She’s more sober than she was the other night.

Maybe not sober enough.

It’s more than enough to see her smile. A real smile, complete with her eyes sparkling up at him. He thinks his question from earlier has been answered clearer. She is happy. Or, rather, she can be happy here. It’s all up to Michael, giving her what she needs, whatever she wants. Constant opposite-tortures.

“You hungry? I’ve got the munchies.” She says, her leg dangling off the edge of the pier; “Janet! Two churro dogs, please!”

“No, Eleanor, you are not getting me to eat-.” He tries.

“Here you go!” Janet appears to hand them both the snack and then quickly leaving.

Michael takes the deformed hot dog and looks it over. This is the Arizona delicacy? It looks like the brain-child of a bakery Frankenstein and every gross hot dog vender who ever arrived in the Bad Place, which was all of them. He looks at Eleanor, seeing that she’s already digging into hers, stuffing it into her mouth and moaning with enough pleasure to almost make it awkward. She points from the dog to him, nodding for him to join the insanity.

He tries to untie the Slim Jim.

“Nah ah, whole thing! Gorge! Gorge! Gorge!” Eleanor cheers him on, clapping her hands.

Michael looks at her, pastry and sausage crumbs around her lips, hair untidy from where she rode like a crazy woman before falling off her magic horse. He thinks she’s the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen.

And this _thing_ in his hand is the most revolting. And this is coming from someone who once disembowelled people for a day job. He inhales, deeply, and forces himself to take a bite.

The things we do for…


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: sexual assault, self-harm, implied tongue removal.

“Janet?”

“Hello, Michael.”

He holds up a finger to his lips when she appears, her automatic greeting chirping a little too loudly through the house.

Eleanor is currently asleep on the lounger outside. They had spent the evening watching a rather muted but dazzling firework display that Michael cast himself, while also enjoying cocktails he’d mixed with his own hands, under the instructions of a Cuban bartender’s videos. Eleanor seemed more impressed by Michael’s ability to juggle and spin the bottles as he created the drinks, like a pro, than the lights exploding in various colors above them.

“Everything okay in the neighborhood?” He asks, quietly, moving farther into the house.

“Well, since you last asked me this morning, a total of four hours has passed and it’s still morning there. So, everything is still running perfectly.” Janet informs him; “Tahani is preparing a breakfast party for the town, Real Eleanor is going to be performing on the violin-.”

“Don’t call her that,” Michael waves off; “Call her Other Eleanor or Eleanor Mark Two. And so long as there are no glitches or disruptions, that’s all I needed to know.”

He glances at the back of Eleanor’s head on the deck chair. It’s going to be getting chilly out there soon.

Michael takes the plush blanket from the sofa and goes back outside, draping it over her, up to her neck. She hums, smiling, half-asleep. He strokes her hair, thinking she looks too comfortable to move. He’ll wait up with her for a couple of hours in case she wakes herself up.

He moves back into the house, back to Janet.

“Eleanor wants to stay here for a bit longer, she’s not ready to face the other residents yet. She needs more time to recover.” Michael explains; “Seeing as we’ll be staying here indefinitely, I need to adjust the time stream slightly, so my absence doesn’t affect the town if I'm needed.”

The celestial mainframe gives him a strange look, almost like she’s trying to see through him, or is about to question his orders. Ridiculous, of course. She’s not capable of her own independent thought. Thank the stars.

“Understood.” Janet nods, “How much wider would you like me to distance the time streams? There is a ratio limit to how far time can be stretched between the zones before the infrastructure of the neighborhood is put at risk.”

Michael takes a moment to consider. It’s very important that his employees suspicions are not risen any higher. It’s all the more important that Eleanor feels she has all the time in the cosmos to spend here until she's confident to return to what is now the closest thing they have to normality.

He rubs at his chin, “How far, exactly?”

*

Sometimes, to her utmost shame, Eleanor wishes she could go back to how she was. Back before she started to find her voice, her feet, herself. Things were simpler for those first several weeks. Confusing and boring but simple. Michael was there to do everything for her and she was too far gone to even be embarrassed by that. All that mattered was that He was gone, that she belonged to someone else now, someone kind and gentle who only gave her food and warmth, no pain. Her body always wrapped in a blanket or a pair of arms. A voice whispering that it would all be okay. It didn’t matter if none of it made sense. It wasn’t her job to think about anything. Just be.

Then her brain had slowly begun to wake up and, piece by piece, she found herself realising what the actual fork was happening around her. What _had_ happened to her. What still could happen. Trevor. Michael. Chidi. Tahani. Jason. Real Eleanor. It was as if she was no longer an outsider looking in at yet another nameless victim. She was the victim. This was her fight which no one had allowed her to train for. Michael could protect her, take care of her, but no one could dig herself out of the hole she’d burrowed into in her own head except herself.

Crawling out from that hole meant confronting how far she’d fallen. The things that had been done to her. The things she’d been forced to do. How her body now reacted in ways that she knew was forked up. Unacceptable. She remembered whimpering and huddling away at every loud noise or unwanted surprise. That was understandable. What wasn’t so easy to think about was crawling over to Michael, ready to suck him off or let him fill her up, use her for whatever he desired, just to show she was grateful for what little act of kindness he offered her.

God. What had that son of a bench turned her into?

Even now, as much as she’s trying to talk and act like her old self, there are times it feels like a performance waiting to end. The curtain will fall and she will revert back to that needy, submissive, helpless animal again. When she’s in the kitchen, listening to the radio – Janet FM never fails to give her a banging tune – and she’s making herself a sandwich, it all seems normal and fine until she slices the bread and is struck blind with the image of a similar blade slicing into her toe. It’s enough to make her want to never eat again. Or when she and Michael sit beneath the stars every night, sharing a drink, laughing at whatever crazy fantasy shirt he conjured up for her that day, there’s a tiny part of her that wants nothing but to curl up in his lap and cry.

She asks Janet about it. She wants to know when it will stop. She wants to know when she will be normal again. All Janet can answer is ‘unclear’. And then she apologises. Even Janet is aware how much that answer frustrates her.

There’s one factor of her new personality that infuriates her more than anything else.

She _really_ wants to masturbate.

She hates how she can remember how much pleasure it used to give her. When she was broken, it was so much easier to believe the voice in her head, telling her such things were bad. Anything remotely sexual was a punishment to receive so do not think about it. She no longer believes that, and she wants to feel it again. She wants control of her body back.

One day she excuses herself to go have a nap in her room, closing the door behind her. Given how she usually naps on the sofa, she hopes it will be an obvious sign that she wants privacy, which Michael has yet to deny her since she started regaining her independence. She lays on her bed and slides her hand down, between her legs, stroking herself for about ten minutes. Harmless. Safe.

Slowly, she tries to work herself up, picturing all the hot guys and gorgeous girls she’s been with in the past. Not every single one was a stud but she usually knew how to pick the best. If they didn’t always know how to make it work, Eleanor was more than prepared to take the reigns, sometimes literally in one very kinky case. It almost starts to work as she feels her lips getting wet, heat rising against her skin, raising her hips a little. Yes, that’s it. Fork.

She exhausts the list of people from her past and lets herself imagine her friends. Because she was lucky to have such attractive friends so why not take advantage of that? She wouldn’t kick any of them out of bed. Jason, an adorable and dumbass hottie. Chidi, damn, how does such a nerd have a six pack like that? Tahani, oh man, if there is a God then She sure went to town crafting those legs! Even the glimpse of Real Eleanor she’d had, she couldn’t blame Chidi for falling for her, not to mention the idea of getting with someone with the same name…What an ego boost.

And Michael.

Damn it, Mikey. He’d made it clear that was off limits and, sure, why mess with what they have right now, which is everything keeping Eleanor together. But, holy smokes, she’s hardly going to forget the tall glass of Smirnoff Ice right on her doorstep. Her forking hero. Making himself unavailable only made the idea more attractive to her, because she’s as impulsively immature as her Florida buddy is with big red buttons.

She pictures their hot mouths on different parts of her body, their hands smoothing over her breasts, her hips, replacing her own between her thighs. They’re helping her recover. Best friends ever.

A giggle rises from her throat as she lets her mind cross those risky boundaries. It’s wrong, it’s naughty, but fork it, that’s who she is. It’s what gets her motor running and, boy, is it starting to power on right now, as she starts to rub up against her fingers…

_Don’t forget me, babe._

Her hand stills.

No.

Eleanor opens her eyes and she sees – Damn it, no! Not here! She tries to close her eyes again, block him out, but she feels it. His hand is on her wrist. It freezes her in place just as she’s starting to get close to experiencing _something_ after all this time. It’s not fair! Not fair! He had no right to still be doing this to her.

Even with her eyes closed, she sees his face, sneering over her.

_You know whores aren’t allowed to get themselves off. Are you gonna pay yourself? Stupid bench._

Eleanor’s whole body shakes as she battles against him. If she moves her hand away, she’s giving up. But she can’t do anything so long as he has her in his iron grip.

She tries to move her fingers, make an attempt to stimulate her nerves, only to be met with a burning sensation in her crotch. Fork! Shirt, Fork!

Trevor laughs above her.

_You don’t own this anymore, sweet cheeks. I marked it with a red hot T so you’ll never forget me. Can’t wait to bust it in again._

With a growl, she wrenches her hand away and almost rolls out of bed at the force needed to get away from the phantom. Her eyes open. Trevor disappears.

 _You stupid bench_ , _Eleanor,_ She curses to herself _, He was never here. You let him get into your head._

Her body shudders and wilts, achingly, squeezing her legs together. She hopes Michael doesn’t choose this moment to come in, seeing her flushed and hot with failure, with anger.

Rushing to the en suite, she slaps cold water from the taps onto her face. Her fingers clench tight around the sink bowl. Eleanor meets the glower of her reflection in the mirror. She hates having to think about what happened to her. She never wants to go back there, physically or mentally. It should be over. She’s supposed to be free.

It will never happen. Not this way.

Eleanor shuts her eyes.

*

“First things first, we’ll be taking these off. You know how I feel about restrictions, baby doll.” Trevor circles her like a vulture, his hands unbutton the jeans she’s grown used to wearing again.

He doesn’t pull them down. Instead he tears them from her skin as if they made of tissue paper. To him, she’s nothing but a present to unwrap, one that’s been kept away from him for far too long. The striped top she has on is nowhere near long enough to provide any cover or retain her decency.

His hands are on her hips. Those fingers, those claws, hook deep into her skin.

Her eyes glance up, seeing him in the mirror with her, his sickly cheerful face above her shoulder. Always smiling. Even when he was furious with her, the smile would only get wider.

“Legs apart.”

She refuses. Her body obeys.

“So glad you remember everything I taught you. Nice little costume you had on there.” He reaches around, grabbing the front of her top, tearing it down to show off her breasts; “Only a rental, huh?”

She wants to turn around. She wants to spit at him, scratch his eyes out, break his jaw.

You bastard, she wants to say, sweat on her forehead as he unzips himself, moving in close. You took everything from me. Her head moves back, hair bunched up in his grip, his lips on her nape. Disgusting. Forking sicko.

“My good lil’ trashbag.” He whispers, almost soothingly, before he enters her, her hip smashing painfully against the sink.

Fork you. Fork you.

*

A scream escapes her lips. Hands grab the mirror from the wall and she throws it to the floor.

She stomps on it, furiously, again and again. She’s not wearing shoes but she’ll deal with that later. More than enough strength has been regained in her to smash it into pieces and then keep going to town on those pieces until there’s nothing but hundreds of shards beneath her. She felt no pain, to start, even though blood was already pooling from the soles of her feet. Imagining Trevor’s face in the mirror gave her a butt load of adrenaline.

When she’s had enough, when there’s no longer enough of it left to make the crunches that are so satisfying, or provide the stings that give her the ultimate stress relief, she stands still, catching her breath. She looks down at the bloody, glittering mess at her feet. All that because she wanted to jerk off.

Eleanor limps outside and slumps down into one of the deck chairs, resting up her bleeding feet.

The pain rises as her energy wanes. Ouch. Forking, ouch. This might have been a terrible idea. Not that it was one she had thought through beforehand.

Michael is sat in the other chair, drinking that weird anti-matter stuff he likes, holding his cup below his chin as he stares at the state of her.

Right. He’s probably wanting an explanation.

Eleanor throws her hands up; “I had a fight with the mirror.”

That’s all that needs to be said.

She really doesn’t want get into the hows and whys which are probably going through the Architect’s head right now as he glances at her feet, eyes darting back to the trail of blood she’s just created all the way from the bathroom, splashing awfully against the cream of the carpet.

Michael puts his cup down.

He snaps his fingers. Her feet heel up. The blood disappears. She assumes the mess on her bathroom floor is gone and the poor mirror restored on the wall. Demon free, as it was, if not for her hallucination. Eleanor sighs, stretching her feet out, wriggling her toes.

“It still hurts.” She complains.

“Good. It was stupid and you won’t do it again. You wanna beat something up, I’ll summon a wrestling ring, you can go to town on some training dummy…Dummy.”

Eleanor nods. That was fair and she deserved it.

Still, it was a little hypocritical, considering what happened the last time she broke some glass. Do as I say, not as I magically summon away with my heavenly powers, she supposes.

“I mean it, Eleanor.” Michael says, firmly; “Promise me, you feel like you need to do this again, you’ll tell me first before hurting yourself. Promise!”

“Jeez, all right, I promise!” She holds her hands up.

The fact that he’s so sexy when he’s being authoritative is definitely not helping her little ‘problem’ at the moment.

She doesn’t try to defend herself. If anything, she’s surprised Michael is as restrained as he is right now, given his reaction when he thought she's self-harmed before. This was different. This should have been in her power to control. It didn’t seem as much of a big deal when there’s an all powerful being is your room mate and can make it all go away with a snap of his fingers. Still, not cool, Eleanor.

Michael makes another snap and hands her a glass of iced tea.

She quietly thanks him, humbled, taking the obvious cue to cool herself off. It’s already working, the anger and frustration starting to quell in her bloodstream. Nothing like a traditional Shellstrop tantrum to get all her feelings out in the most destructive way available.

Michael sits back and sips his own drink.

“Did you at least win?” He asks, watching the ocean.

Eleanor gives him an incredulous smirk; “’Course I did. It’s a forking mirror.”

They laugh, together. It’s the only thing that keeps her sane these days.

*

“I wanna go to a bar.” Eleanor tells him, one late afternoon, empty martini glass steadied between her fingers. They’ve only had the one drink so far after a big dinner, so she’s still rather sober.

Michael turns on his side to face her, batting away some of the white cotton-candy surface they’re laying across as they enjoy their drinks.

“I’m sorry, Eleanor, is this location not impressive enough for you?” He asks, surprised.

She smirks, moving to sit up, crossing her legs.

“Don’t get me wrong, this is awesome. I mean everyone imagines that Heaven is sitting on a cloud all day, playing a harp, and I now know what that would be like…minus the harp because they’re stupid.” She dangles one foot over the edge, fearlessly, “It’s just very…Disney’s Aladdin. And I was always more of a Shrek girl.”

“You prefer ogres over princes?” Michael jests.

“Bold of you to assume I’m not the ogre.” She says before letting out a belch, as if to prove it; “Fiona’s a hottie.”

It had seemed like a random request when he’d asked Eleanor for what big magical treat she wanted to try out today. He was often surprised by the near limitless extent of her imagination, considering she was hardly much of a fantasy geek, aside from secretly reading all the Harry Potters at school behind copies of Cosmo to look cool. For the past couple of months they had spent each day trying out a list of ideas Eleanor seemed to come up with on the fly. She’d flown on a dragon, she’d swam with non-cultist mermaids, she’d drank actual Butterbeer (that had been a tough one for Michael to hunt the recipe for), she’d made out with a centaur (that was weird and made him a little bit envious) and one time he’d had to turn her into a zombie simply so she could see if she would ‘make a hot Walking Dead extra’. Spoilers, she did.

The girl is never dull, not for a second. Michael is infatuated.

It wasn’t a real cloud they were on, of course, as they weren’t falling straight through the condensed moisture. It’s as a human child imagines clouds feel like, fluffy and sturdy like a giant, floating pillow. There’s no turbulent wind threatening to blow them off. They’re high enough to be level with the top of the nearby mountains, not to look over them, still fenced off from the rest of the neighborhood. The neighborhood which is now running at a snail’s pace compared to their time here.

Eleanor is never put off by heights. She can sit on a cloud or the back of a dragon or griffin at ten thousand feet without the slightest wobble. He’s confused as to why she hasn’t requested to fly on her own yet, given how she was denied the chance before. All she has to do is ask. There is nothing he wouldn’t do to make her happy (except that one thing he can never do because he’s not an idiot).

She drops her empty martini glass over the edge, watching it fall beyond her sight and land in the sea. She giggles.

“I think you just lost some points for littering.” Michael off-handly mentions.

“Oh, shoot. It’s too bad I don’t have an all-powerful Architect as my best friend, right?”

“Right.” He smirks, dropping his glass over the edge as well; “So, you want me to make you a bar?”

“No, I wanna _go_ to a bar. There’s a difference.” Eleanor explains; “I’m sure you could design a great bar, I really think you should consider a real one for the town, ignore all the teetotal losers there. I bet you’d even make a hot bartender. But it’s not the same as what real bars on Earth are like. I miss the atmosphere, the noise, the smell…the people…”

He sighs, always aware of the annoying fact that she can’t be satisfied with only his company forever. Michael thinks he could be, just him and Eleanor, in this little sanctuary for eternity. But then, as a demon, sharing a home with one other living being was more than he ever thought he would know.

“Do you wanna go back to the town?” he asks her.

Eleanor is quick to decline; “No. No. I’m not ready for…those people. Not yet. I just really miss having a drink in a bar like I used to. I get that you can’t take me to one of those but I felt like getting it out there.”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Michael snaps his fingers.

Instantly, the two of them are transported from their cloud high up in the sky, to a booth in a busy but not overly crowded bar. He looks at Eleanor’s startled face, the transition possibly a little too quick for her, especially when suddenly surrounded by dozens of people milling around them, loud music thumping through the air. Her hand reaches for his and he lets her hold on. But she doesn’t panic, doesn’t cling to him in fright.

A look of excitement starts to dawn on her as she turns her head, getting a good look around the place.

“Woah! Are we really here? Is this a real bar?” She blinks, feeling the seat beneath them.

“Not quite. It’s an incredibly lifelike simulation. Those doors over there lead to nothing. The people are just NPC’s. It’s the best I can do.”

Eleanor turns to him and grins, a little breathless.

“It’s perfect!” She leans in and kisses his cheek, nearly catching his lips.

Michael tries not to blush. Very unbecoming of a demon, no matter what he’s pretending to be.

“Gotta say, I know they’re not real, but I feel a little under dressed with all these fake people around.” She waves a hand at the shift top and shorts she’s been wearing all day.

Michael raises his hand, snapping a smart-casual suit onto himself. Not one of his usual snappy get ups, no bow ties like the ones he hasn’t worn in months, just a black jacket over a blue shirt and jeans.

“Just picture what you wanna wear. Clearly in your mind.” He tells her.

Eleanor bites her lip, taking a breath as if preparing for meditation, then nods.

His fingers snap.

“Oh, very funny, Eleanor. Very mature.” He comments, sarcastically, as the I’m With Stupid t-shirt manifests on her front, an arrow pointing in his direction; “You wanna wear a potato sack?”

“No!” She laughs, reaching to still his hand, “I’ll do it right this time! Honest!”

She’s lucky she’s so perfectly imperfect.

*

Eleanor is amazed that Michael managed to get that stuffy but invigorating atmosphere right. It makes her feel right at home as they move through the small groups of people to the bar. Everything in the design of this place is incredibly familiar, making her wonder if he meshed it together from different Arizona bars in her memory. The people all look like stock photo models but they manage to move with a realism that stop it all from drifting into uncanny valley.

She smooths down the red dress she decided to go with, feeling a rush as well as a twinge of fear at wearing something like this again. The last time she wore any kind of dress was…No. No, she won’t think about that here. She takes a deep breath and holds her head up, leaning on the bar as Michael orders their drinks.

“I don’t understand,” she says, not quite as loud as she would have to in a real bar; “Why can’t you simulate things for everyone in the Good Place? Give them whatever they want?”

“Well for one, it’s easier doing it for only one person and having it be only a single room. There aren't enough Janets to get that to work for every soul in existence.” He tells her, “The other thing is, it takes away the point of a neighborhood in that it’s supposed to be a community? The purpose of them is they’re supposed to be designed to suit everyone together. If you just let individual people be off in their own little bubbles, it kinda ruins the idea of being with your fellow kindred spirits. It’s like Putnam’s whole ‘brain in a vat’ problem.”

Eleanor narrows her eyes. She can’t remember Chidi getting to him, if they were even supposed to.

“Or the Matrix.” Michael says and then she understands.

“Oh, I get ya. Yeah, bad idea.” She muses, happily accepting her margarita when it’s handed to her by the fake bartender; “Well, here’s to being two brains together in a vat!”

Michael grins and clinks his glass with hers.

“Cheers. Also, I have three, so we’re technically four brains.”

Eleanor takes a sip and then rolls her eyes; “You are such a show-off! You make me look modest.” She bumps him with her shoulder.

This almost feels…normal. Not that she didn’t love all the fantastical, amazing stuff she got to experience at Michael or Janet’s fingertips every day. But it was another, different kind of special, to just be able to stand in a bar with a guy. It felt real enough that she didn’t care if it was all a simulation. The most immersive video game she’d ever played since she used to burn the houses down in her friend’s copy of the Sims. She glances at Michael, who looks so relaxed, and she wonders if this is real enough for him? Or, as he’s the one summoning it all, is he too busy spotting glitches or areas for improvement? She wants him to enjoy all the stupid shirt he makes for her as much as she does.

He always looks happy around her, so long as she’s happy. After all this time together, she likes to think that she would be able to see through him if he wasn’t being straight with her.

There are times, small, fleeting moments, dust in the wind, when she feels a niggle on the back of her neck.

She’s not sure what that’s all about.

Eleanor takes another swig of her drink and glances around, spotting something in the corner.

“Can’t believe you included karaoke!” She says to her companion.

“Of course. Like old times.” Michael smiles at her.

“Time, dude, one time.” She points out, not that she didn’t wish there had been more, “That was only our first date.”

His eyes flicker, caught off by some other emotion, and she hopes that wasn’t too full on.

Was it fair to call it a date? What else did you call two people spending the whole day together, having fun? It didn’t matter if it was romantic or between two buds. A date was a date.

What did that make this one? Has this whole getaway been one, long second date?

“You should sing.” He tells her.

Eleanor feels herself start to close inward again; “What? No. I-I can’t.”

It took her weeks to only learn how to talk again. She still has the odd stammer when something startles her or triggers a flashback. She hasn’t even tried singing to herself in the bath like she used to, mostly to annoy the woman who lived in the apartment above her who smelled of beets.

She’ll sound awful. She’ll simply corpse.

“Well, I’m going to. You’re not going to let me make a fool of myself on my own, are you?” Michael asks her, offering his hand.

Eleanor grimaces, putting down her glass.

“Ugh, you know that’s against the code.” Karaoke pals never let the other fly solo.

She lets him lead her up onto the stage. All the eyes in the bar turn towards the two of them. Eleanor’s legs can’t help but buckle a little. The last time they had done this, the arcade had been empty, not that she would have cared either way. She was a different person back then.

She touches Michael’s arm.

“Just to be clear, they’re not real people, are they?” She asks.

“No, they’re fake. But their judgement is real.”

She frowns at him.

“There has to be some pressure, Eleanor, or else it takes all the fun out of it.” He hands her a microphone.

Stupid angel has a point, she supposes, taking it in her grip.

She recognises the song Michael chooses from the first few beats. She should have seen it coming really, seeing as how they went with Bon Jovi on their first time. She holds the mic beneath her chin with both hands and looks out at the faces watching them. They soon fall into darkness as the spotlight comes down.

Eleanor feels her chest grow tight. No, she won’t have a panic attack now, damn it. It’s just her and Michael. She’s got no reason to be afraid. No reason to think she doesn’t have the right to sing her heart out. She takes a breath, stretching her tongue inside her mouth, as if to make sure it’s there.

*

“You’re gonna sing for me today, baby.” He has her hanging from the ceiling, wrists and ankles hog tied behind her back; “You like to sing, don’t ya? Can’t carry a tune to save your life but that never stopped you poisoning people’s eardrums before.”

Trevor takes out a pocketknife and pokes it into her chin.

Eleanor whimpers, every inch of her feeling overly stretched, as if she could snap in half at any moment. She probably will. They’ve done worse to her here.

It can’t have been a day. Maybe two. Did it even matter anymore?

*

It’s hot. It’s really hot in here. Her dress feels too tight. Too revealing. The music thumps around her, as if it’s trying to hit her.

Michael starts up, taking the first verse.

_“Tommy used to work on the dock,  
Union’s been on strike, he’s down on his luck…”_

She wants to join him. Her mouth moves but no sound is created. Thank God there are no boos coming from the crowd or else she would be running.

Damn it, what the fork is wrong with her?

*

“C’mon, songbird.” Trevor grips the back of her hair; “You’re gonna croon one out for me. Let’s see, how about…Bitch, Meredith Brooks? Nah, too empowering for you.”

He makes a casual slice at her throat. She bites back a cry.

Blood drips to the floor.

“What about you sing about how that milkshake of yours brings the boys to the yard?” He laughs, taking another slice.

Any deeper and he’ll cut her larynx. She keeps her mouth shut.

She wishes death was final.

*

There are tears on her cheeks by the time she feels Michael brush his hand against her face. She opens her eyes and looks at him. His focus is purely on her as he sings,

_“Gina dreams of running away,  
When she cries in the night, Tommy whispers,”_

Eleanor takes a deep breath and joins in, quietly to start,

_“Baby, it’s okay.”_

*

Trevor pries her mouth open wide. Her eyes are bright with what remains of her defiance.

“Sing for me, dumb dumb. This is your last chance. After this you’ll never make another sound. You’ll just be a pathetic, little mute. Nothing is gonna enter that mouth except my big, juicy schlong. You’ll be my pretty hole. My toy. My _thing_.” He slips the knife underneath her tongue.

Eleanor gives him what he usually asks for. A smile.

Do your worst.

*

She takes Michael’s hand in hers, raising the mic to her lips.

_“We’ve gotta hold on to what we’ve got,  
It doesn’t make a difference if we make it or not,  
We’ve got each other and that’s a lot for love…”_

The people, simulated or not, seem to disappear along with the ghost in her head. It’s as if they are back at the arcade again, just the two of them. That same feeling of freedom had taken her then, of the rest of the neighborhood fading away for a blissful moment, leaving her and Michael in a world of their own.

She lets her voice grow louder. Her voice. Her tongue. She wasn’t going to let anyone take this away again. The fire rises in her chest and she lets the beat take her, pumping her up, letting it steal her away.

_“Oh, we’re halfway there,_   
_Woah-oh!_   
_Livin’ on a prayer!”_

Michael grins, his eyes bright beneath his specs. He spins her under his arm.

_“Take my hand and we’ll make it I swear!”_

Eleanor laughs as she twirls in his grip. She doesn’t lose her balance. Not now she’s on form again. She hasn’t felt so alive since she, well, died. With Michael at her side, she feels invincible, like she could take on an army of demons. It’s not enough to make her want to go running back to the neighborhood. But it’s enough that she is excited to go to sleep later tonight and wake up for a new day.

They’ll make it. They’ll be okay.

_“You live for the fight when it’s all that you’ve got!”_

The applause that erupts through the bar when the song is over might be fake, but for Eleanor it feels earned, as she wipes the sweat from her brow. Michael’s hands slip around her and he whispers how amazing she is against her ear. She grins, elated and spent all at once, turning to wrap her arms around his neck.

With a snap of his fingers, the bar disappears and they’re back home. On solid ground. Standing on the patio beneath the stars her not-angel designed. Eleanor catches her breath, resting her head against his chest.

“Next time, I get to pick the song.”

Michael’s fingers comb through her hair; “It’s a date.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Long ash chapter. That's it, sorry, it just got away from me. Also some nightmare scenes and torture etc.

No one escapes from the Bad Place. That’s not to say people haven’t tried, oh so many times, over the past million years or so. Silly humans never even manage to reach the train station.

She has come the closest, a fact she might never be aware of.

It won’t matter now that she’s been caught.

“Where do you think you’re going, cupcake?” the demon snaps their fingers.

She screams, hands reaching out for the nearest door handle, so close she can hear the trains. She can hear the Bad Janet making those trite announcements on the tanoy.

_“This is a passenger announcement, dickwads. The 324 to Accounting has been delayed by five hundred years for no reason. Also, if you see any suspicious luggage, go ahead and open that shit so we can see your guts explode. Losers.”_

She makes another swipe for the door. Her fingers brush against the metal. So close to freedom.

The demon giggles with sheer amusement before snapping their fingers again.

She’s hurled backwards, all the way down the hall, body smacking against the walls like a pinball until she’s back in her cell. She whimpers, cradling her shoulder from where it’s been popped out, her feet twisted beneath her. The demon steps in and closes the door behind them with another snap, their hungry eyes on their human.

“Now that was kinda rude. I mean, just walking out like that. No goodbye? We were having so much fun.” They step on the human’s hand, crushing her fingers beneath their shoes.

She cries out again and clutches her hand to her chest when the demon lets up.

“P-please…Please…” She reaches up with her good hand, pawing at their leg; “…I shouldn’t be here…I don’t deserve to be here.”

“Don’t deserve it?” the demon scoffs; “Honey, that’s not what the points say. They tell me you were a naughty little bitch. All those kids you bullied in school, just because they couldn’t afford as nice clothes as your family could? Stealing money from Mommy and Daddy? Selling all those saucy photos of yourself to the press to make a quick buck? You’re grade A trash, babe. I like ya.”

Another snap. She’s strung up with her arms above her head, wrists in the painful grip of the cable-ties again. She starts to shudder as she hears the familiar sound of scorpions descending down the rope.

Her eyes keep trying to plead with the heartless monster abusing her for pleasure.

“I…I only bullied them because of what my sister did to me…I-It made me feel good. And that was wrong, I know!” She confesses, terrified, “I stole my parents money to get away from them because they didn’t love me, I was nothing but a legacy to them! They sued me for the money and cut me off so I had to do what I could to pay my own way…”

“Aww. That’s so sad. Bad Janet, play Despacito.” Her captor says with a mocking pout.

The Bad Janet pops in to tell the demon to bite her ass before disappearing.

She wriggles in the binds, causing a few drops of blood to fall onto her eyes. Tears stream down her face as she comes to accept how futile it is.

“Yeah, see, I don’t really give a shit why you did what you did. Fact is, you did ‘em. And now you gotta pay the price. That’s just how it works.” The demon shrugs, stroking a finger down her cheek.

One of the scorpions with the fattest stinger crawls down and under her armpit. These were the bane of her nightmares, on top of her parents emotional abuse, and now she gets to enjoy them forever. She won’t get to meet her folks again but maybe she will get to hear how she failed them as she lays awake each night.

She whimpers; “I…I messed up…I know I was bad. I didn’t know what else to be! I wanna change! I always wanted to change but I never got the chance! Please…That’s all I want.”

The demon groans, rolling their eyes. This is starting to get tedious now.

“Please give me another chance!” She cries out, another one of the creepy crawlies nearing her mouth.

Eleanor flashes a smirk; “There are no second chances, hot stuff. This is it. End of the line.”

She snaps her fingers and around twenty scorpions swarm down upon the nameless woman. Eleanor is forced to watch, a sadistic grin plastered on her face, as her victim shrieks in agony, writhing and pleading for mercy, for salvation that will never come. Her screams of anguish slowly transform into that of her tormentor’s.

*

“S-stop! Stop, s-stop it! I’m sorry! Please, I didn’t…I c-couldn’t, please!”

“Easy there…”

Soothing fingers curl around her wrist, stilling its thrashes, another set caressing her forehead. Gentle words envelop her subconscious as she starts to climb out of her own head. Shh, sweet girl, they whisper. They tell her that nothing will hurt her. That she’s okay, she’s safe. The hand on her wrist moves to her back as she sits up, sweeping herself into the embrace, being held tight, held together, circles rubbed into the space between her shoulders.

Her breathing is ragged against him, hair stuck to the sweat on her face, utterly fatigued. It takes about ten minutes of Michael holding her, calming her, until her body loses its tension. Eleanor’s eyes blink open, sitting back a little, lips parted as she breathes through a dry as fork throat. Michael quickly hands her the glass of water already prepared on the nightstand, which she sips with one hand, her other clenching the cuff of his shirt.

“A little better now?” Michael asks, turning on the lamp.

Eleanor swallows her water. She nods. Yes, better. Always a little, never all the way. That’s okay.

It’s been weeks, if not months, since she had a night terror that awful. She had almost fooled herself into believing that she was done with them. She could handle the odd, minor bad dream or a flickered flashback, easy to brush off. That was the first time in a while something had pushed her into a screaming fit.

“Bad Place?” Michael asks, to which she nods. He takes her hand, “Trevor?”

She tries not to react to that name. It’s tough. It’s like trying not to react to an electric shock.

But, for one strange night, he isn’t the problem.

“N-no…” She frowns, leaning back against her pillows; “Th-this was…different.”

A cool draft enters the room. Her full-length sliding door is open, just a tiny gap. A few months ago, the sight of it open at night would have thrown her into the mama of all panic attacks. Now she finds the distant sound of the sea relaxing, the constant flow of mild, fresh air a reminder that she’s no longer locked in a cell in the deep chasms of Hell. And she had Michael. He’d been sleeping with her, in the way a completely virtuous gentleman would, for so long now. If he had to leave the room, he would close it for her. If anything dared to enter while he was there, to try to harm a hair on her head, it would face the wrath of his finger snap.

That’s what he had promised her many times. That’s what Eleanor believed in, more than any god or spirits or super alien overlord that any church or freaky cult had tried to sell her on before.

“Different?” He’s curious, but he knows not to push if she doesn’t want to talk about it.

Eleanor’s not convinced she does want to. But she needs to.

“I…I wasn’t the one being tortured…” She ventures, fingers linking around Michael’s; “It was someone else. I don’t even know who…J-just some…spoiled rich girl…Kinda like Tahani, I guess, but nowhere near as hot. Though, to be fair, she was covered with scorpions.”

“No human has ever been able to pull that off.” Michael lightens; “Lady Gaga lost points for trying.”

There’s a fun fact.

Eleanor takes another breath; “You wanna know the worst part?.. _.I_ was the one doing the torturing.”

Tears spring to her eyes as she remembers the feeling of being so cruel, so heartless, and how it had rushed through her bloodstream, making her feel so alive. So powerful. To have that much control over someone’s pain. To feel as though she was right to hurt anyone like that. It was sick. She felt sick.

She looks at Michael, who seems lost for words. Is he disgusted with her? Is that a sign of how truly wicked she is, that part of her screwed-up brain is now empathising with her torturer? It wasn’t working. She couldn’t understand Trevor’s desire to hurt her any more than before. If anything, it now made less sense. Because she had felt that girl’s agony, understood the injustice, shared her screams. It didn’t matter that she had no name, it didn’t matter that her sins and motivations were so different to Eleanor’s. All that mattered was, it was wrong. It was wrong.

And it’s still happening. That girl may or may not exist but there were a million other souls like her, like Eleanor, who might not have been perfect but were now trapped in eternal torment and never given the chance to try again. To try to be better. One chance was all they had. All any of them had.

Except her.

She got out. She got saved. She was allowed to recover, to be healed, to know sleep again. She gets to enjoy all the near unlimited benefits Heaven has to offer. She gets to have a not-robot supply her every needs. She gets to have her own guardian not-angel protecting her. She gets to ride unicorns and visit virtual bars and drink water that doesn’t turn to bleach in her mouth.

“It’s not fair, Michael.” Eleanor whispers, feeling very cold all of a sudden; “Why am I the only one who got to leave? What makes me any better than them? Tell me!”

Her eyes stare at him, pleading. He remains quiet, looking caught off guard.

He has no idea what the purpose of this is, of any of this, as much as she does. The godly Architect of this pocket of Heaven has no answers for her. That is terrifying.

Eleanor crumbles, hand over her face.

“I shouldn’t have left …We never should’ve left them there…”

Her voice breaks. That’s when Michael gathers her into his arms and rocks her. He tells her that it’s only a dream. He tells her that it’s not her fault, that there is nothing she could have done, that he was only able to save her. Eleanor knows, rationally, that he’s right. She doesn’t know why she’s suddenly taking the burden of caring about all those other people on her shoulders. She never gave a crab about them before. It was enough anxiety to save herself. And then Chidi. Then Michael. Jason.

Now humanity? Michael’s right. It shouldn’t be her concern. She should do as he says, close her eyes and go to sleep in his arms. Just be happy that she got out, that she’s safe. She’s in the Good Place.

The girl’s screams echo in her memory.

*

Survivor’s guilt. That’s what Michael puts it down to.

He can’t lie to himself. There had been a split second, a teeny tiny thrill in his essence, when Eleanor had confessed to having dreamed of torturing someone in the Bad Place. It had given him a sneaky glimpse into another reality. An alternative existence where Eleanor had been a demon he worked with, the only one he truly connected with, who could work with him, having fun torturing humans together, and spend time with him more than demons were expected to. He could have met her centuries ago. He wouldn’t have been alone for so long.

Then, to no one’s surprise, her damn human conscience showed itself and it was clear that the very thought of intentionally hurting another human, any human, was scarring to her. Eleanor wasn’t the monster he thought she was when he’d read her file, when he’d picked her for the experiment. She had proven that when she stood up to save Chidi. When she had murdered Janet to save _him_. It was a little disappointing. But he could hardly begrudge her for it.

It was much easier to comfort her when the nightmares were about reliving Trevor’s abuse. He could fill her head with promises of how it was over and he would never touch her again, that she was okay now, that there was nothing to be afraid of. What he didn’t tell her was the fact that the most wicked and dangerous creature in this realm was Michael himself. And Eleanor was possibly the only one with no reason to fear him. Not anymore.

Dealing with Eleanor’s questions and moral dilemmas on how unfair it was for humans to be sent to the Bad Place was far more difficult. He had hoped it would be a one off for that night, a blip. That she would wake up the next day and be so distracted by the pancakes and waffles he made for breakfast that she would drop the matter entirely. And, briefly, it had worked. She’d awoken refreshed and smiling, her face as bright as the sun, stuffing her breakfast into her mouth like a cute, blond hamster. Michael had asked what she wanted to do that day and, an hour later, they were having a picnic on the back of a whale.

Sometimes he wonders if she makes up these scenarios via a game of fantasy mad libs.

So long as she was happy, distracted from any trauma induced stress, Michael would give her whatever she wanted.

It’s not until a few days later that he realises this isn’t a one-off annoyance.

Michael finds Eleanor camped out on the patio in her chair, one afternoon, buried in another one of those philosophy books that Janet must have given her. He’s pretty sure she hasn’t finished the first one yet. He watches her, wondering if she’s aware how long they’ve been here. Is she still reading these for Chidi? How often does she think about him? He wishes he didn’t care.

He claps his hands together, making her jump a bit; “So! What’s the plan for tonight? Sushi?”

“Nah, we did sushi a couple nights ago.” Eleanor continues to read; “I think we’ve gone through every nation when it comes to food now. My stomach’s done more travelling than my feet ever did.”

“Ah, but there’s past cultured foods we can try.” Michael points out; “Let’s see…We could go to Ancient Rome, they do a mouse stuffed with pork, coated in honey.”

“That sounds…horrible, but it’s also what I feel like ‘ratatouille’ should be? And I’m kinda intrigued.” Eleanor admits.

Good, that’s how Michael felt with the churro dogs. Which weren’t that bad. Awful, yes, but he wouldn’t say no to another.

“Honestly, dude, I’m kinda VR’d out for now.” She tells him, looking apologetic; “I’m thinking just a chill night in? You can cook if you want or Janet can deliver us a pizza? I hear if she’s more than thirty nanoseconds late, we get extra dip.”

Michael gives her a smile. If Eleanor wants a quiet night in, that’s fine with him. His magic has been feeling a little spent lately and it can’t be doing Janet much good to keep powering these simulations and dazzling creations he summons for Eleanor.

“Pizza it is. And a movie? Ooh, you could show me all those Fast and Furious films? I’d like to understand why humans have to be so angry when they drive.”

Eleanor grins at him, with those eyes that always looked charmed whenever he comments about something in human society that intrigues him. It made Michael feel warm inside, how she never mocked or scalded his fascination, unlike all his demon colleagues.

“You can enjoy the Stath-man on your own if you want, bud, but I think I’m gonna be trying to finish this book today if I can.”

He tries to contain his bitterness at being rejected for a dusty old book. Who turned his fun-loving dirtbag into a nerd?

Michael peers at the cover; “ _An Introduction To The Principles of Morals and Legislation?_ Sounds riveting. You sure you’re not coming down with something?” He reaches to feel her forehead; “I think you might have caught that Geek Flu that’s going around.”

“Knock it off.” She laughs, batting his hand away, “Anyway, it’s one of those For Dummies editions with all the hard parts explained so it’s not like I’m losing all my cool points.”

“Is this you still trying to catch up with studying before you see Chidi again?”

“No, man…Well, okay, yeah it was on his reading list but, believe it or not, I am actually interested in this stuff on my own.” Eleanor tells him, “Especially after the other night. Remember that dream I had? The one about that girl I had to torture? I’ve not been able to put it out of my head. It’s just got me thinking…Is everyone who goes to the Bad Place deserving of eternal torture? Or anyone, for that matter?”

“Of course they are, Eleanor.” He says as if it’s a no brainer, “You don’t think Hitler deserves being constantly dipped in lava? Or JFK’s dad deserves to have his brain swirled with an egg whisk?”

“Fine, those are obvious examples where maybe they are due back some of the pain they caused,” Eleanor concedes; “But what about the girl I dreamed about? She was raised in a toxic family, she never knew real love, she was taught money was the only thing and so how could she have a chance of turning out different than what she was – which still wasn’t a mass murderer or a dictator?”

“You don’t even know if that girl exists.”

Michael can definitely say he’s seen more than a few selfish, spoiled women and men like that in the Bad Place. He’s tortured more than a few himself. He knows the sort of fate Tahani might have endured had he not picked her for his experiment.

“That’s not the point! Don’t you get it? It’s what she represents. All those people who are basically being punished for being ignorant or starved of what it means to be good to others and died before they had a chance to get better…Like I was.” Eleanor expresses, that same guilt returning to her eyes; “It just…doesn’t seem fair.”

“That’s how the points work, Eleanor. It’s how it’s always been. The system is never wrong.” Michael shrugs. He doesn’t get why this is so complicated for her to understand.

She tilts her head at him; “Okay. Then why bother saving me?”

Oh, here they go again.

“Eleanor…” This is starting to bum him out.

“No, seriously,” she sits up a bit, “If you truly believe the system is so perfect then you must believe it was right to send me to the Bad Place. I mean, c’mon, all it took was one story about me ruining my friend’s dress and humiliating her to make you decide to press the button and call the boys in black to take me away. And then a few days later, you’re charging in to take me back. What the fork changed?”

Michael sits down in the chair beside her, huffing. What changed, indeed.

*

_Several Months Earlier…_

“Michael? Michael!”

Darn it. Time for his daily dose of buzzkill. 

“I’m a little busy here, Chidi, you’ll have to ask Janet to schedule an appointment.” Michael says, lazily, pretending to glance at a clipboard as he walks through town.

The ethics professor continues to hound him as he’s done for the past two days.

“I’ve been trying and she keeps saying that you’re fully booked up!” He complains, making rather impressive strides to keep up with the Architect.

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll have a window to squeeze you in in about,” He lifts up a paper; “Sixty years? I’m having to deal with a lot on my own right now after someone murdered my neighborhood’s mainframe and she’s having to reboot from scratch. She’s gone from a Macbook Pro to Windows Vista. It’s gonna be a difficult climb ahead.”

He makes sure to add that bite of resentment in his words to make Chidi feel even more guilt over killing Janet. It was always helpful when the humans practically provided their own torture.

“Fine! Be mad at me, I don’t care!” Chidi says, a surprising amount of anger in his tone, “But this isn’t about me rebooting Janet. You know what it is I want from you.”

Michael clicks his tongue as they reach the building of his office. He finally turns to face Chidi when they’re the waiting room outside his office.

“Look, I’m not happy about losing Eleanor anymore than you are. But she was never supposed to be here, those were her words. I even asked her if she thought she belonged here and she said no.” He explains, feigning reluctance; “And you wanna know what hurts the most? It’s the lying! If she, or even you, had just come to me from the start and told the truth, then I probably could’ve found a way to keep her here.”

Chidi’s face suddenly goes pale with dread.

“Oh, no. Don’t say that.” He clenches, reeling back, probably due a stomach-ache at any moment.

Wonderful.

“I told you that I enjoyed Eleanor’s company. That is true. I really thought she was my friend.” Michael tries to look devastated; “But she never really cared. It was all deceit.”

He tries to go into his office. Make a show of the gut-wrenching betrayal.

“That’s just it, she did!” Chidi says, desperately, “She did care! She cared enough to try to kill Janet herself to spare you from retirement! She came clean about not belonging here to protect me! She might not have been the best person on Earth but she was trying to be a better person here, are you trying to tell me that means nothing?!”

“I already told you! You can’t earn points to be in the Good Place after you’re already dead! It’s against the rules!”

“Screw the rules – oh dear God, I can’t believe I said that,” Chidi momentarily panics before regaining his composure; “If Eleanor really meant as much to you as you claim then you would do this for her, regardless! She was willing to go to the extremes to save you. You owe it to her to save her this time!”

Michael tries not to laugh at the idea of Eleanor murdering Janet to ‘save’ him. There was nothing, in truth, he needed saving from. He was never under any threat of retirement – not until she decided to blow her own cover and ruin everything. That was what had really put him in hot water. Eleanor trying to do the ‘right’ thing had that meant everything was now falling apart.

Damnit, she really did suck. And not in the ‘cool’ way she had at the start. He’d _liked_ that Eleanor. The lying trashbag. The one who taught him how to steal tickets at the arcade and play hooky instead of work. As for this new, stupid, self-sacrificing Eleanor? He owed her nothing.

“Chidi, we’ve been through this all before. I tried to save Eleanor, remember, but the train was already gone. Trying to get her back now…I’m not even sure where to start. No one has ever been brought out of the Bad Place before. And even if I did, who’s to say she would want to come back after she willingly got on that train? She might feel like she belongs there.”

He very much doubts it. And Michael couldn’t deny that he was a little bit vexed that Trevor had taken Eleanor with him on the train when that hadn’t been the plan. Unfortunately, after failing to reach them in time, a call to his Boss had been enough to make Michael accept that this was the better plan. Let Eleanor get a little roughed up by a true Bad Place experience to make her feel more desperate to cling to, what she believed was, ‘the Good Place’.

Given the headache she had caused him recently, it was what she deserved, whether she was good or bad or getting supposedly better.

“You really think that?” Chidi frowns, hands on his hips; “Hey, Janet!”

“Hi there.” She pops into the room.

“You can play us brief audio clips from the Bad Place right? Can you play from any particular place or person there?”

Michael stiffens. He's not sure he likes where the nerd is going with this.

“I sure can. Whose torment would you like me to focus on?” Janet asks.

“Chidi, don’t!” Michael warns.

The professor simply glares back at him.

“I’d like to hear Eleanor Shellstrop.”

Janet opens her mouth. At first, no sound comes out. Chidi looks at her, rolls his eyes, and then removes the cactus that is half-way lodged in her jaws. When it’s released, his fingers bleeding a little, the clip plays.

They’re both treated to the spine-chilling noise of a woman screaming. She makes no words. But both of them know, without a doubt, who the voice belongs to. There’s a slight hissing sound that accompanies her, that Michael sure is some sort of burning implement, maybe a soldering iron or a small blow torch.

The kicker is when they hear that familiar, sleazy voice whisper in the background.

_“Hot enough for you, babe?”_

Trevor.

Michael winces. For the very first time, he’s faced with the image in his head of what is actually happening to one of his humans at the moment. Brutal, vicious torture at the hands of a demon who wasn’t him. The wrong type of torture! He had thought that they would be cleverer, more personal, about it. Force Eleanor to listen to jazz music while planning her boss’ baby shower. Make her swim in a river of clam chowder. But no, Trevor was going for the most basic, banal methods.

He clenches his jaw; “All right! Janet, stop!”

He can’t listen to another second of Eleanor screaming. The fact that she’s not swearing her tongue to death makes him fear that…Oh, no.

Michael glances at Chidi, who continues to stare daggers at him. There’s a shine of tears behind his glasses.

He takes a step towards Michael, his voice low and furious. It’s almost intimidating.

“Bring her back. Now. Or call a train and tell the Bad Place they can have me too.”

*

“Michael? Michael!”

He blinks, returning back to his seat on the beach house patio. He glances at his yellow-haired companion beside him.

“You okay, bud? You didn’t say anything there for like five minutes.” Eleanor asks, her book enclosed in her lap.

He shakes his head; “Yeah, sorry…You asked me something.”

“I did. I wanted to know what made you change your mind about me staying in the Good Place?” She asks him again.

“Right,” He stretches his fingers over the armrests; “Well…like I said before, Chidi wouldn’t leave me alone about it for starters. But even before that, I never intended for you to go there. I only called Trevor so we could sort out what the mistake was, I never intended for him to just take you! As soon as I found out, I tried to stop it, honest! I was too late and I…I’m so sorry.”

She seems disappointed by that answer, leaning her head back and exhaling.

“You’re not answering my question. I want to know why you think I belong in the Good Place when you also believe all those people like me deserve to stay in the Bad Place?” She asks it slowly, as if he were a dumb kid.

“There is no one like you, Eleanor.” Michael tells her, heatedly.

Can’t she see that? Doesn’t she know how special and unique she is?

“I’m just an Arizona dirtbag, baby.” She says, almost in the tune of a song he thinks he’s heard before; “There is nothing that makes me different from them. The only reason you came for me is because we spent time together before and…we became friends. Didn’t we? Ross and Phoebe, remember?”

Michael stares at her and nods. Yes. Of course, he remembers. It wasn’t supposed to be real, it had meant to only be something to mess with her, make her feel guilty for lying to him. But then she had to go and make him that paperclip bracelet. She had to help him win the ugly, yellow toddler.

She had to call him ‘friend’. She had to smile.

“The only thing I can see that made you want to save me out of anyone else in those cells next to me is propinquity.” Eleanor says.

He gives her an off look; “What now?”

She gets up and moves over to him, perching herself down on his lap, in order to show him the glossary page of her stupid book; “Propinquity. It’s basically what draws people to bond with others when they spend a lot of time with them. You’re put in a situation where you’re near someone, constantly, you’re bound to get some feelings for them and care for them more than someone you’ve never met or you don’t see as often. It's like every reality tv show ever. We’re the first humans you’ve ever properly met, you’re the first Architect who has bothered to spend time around the humans you built the town for. It makes sense that you would want to save me, even if it’s not totally rational, or fits what you've always been taught is right. It gives you more pleasure doing a good thing to save me because you know me than it would saving some rando.”

“Where are you going with this?” Because Michael is very close to doing some good old fashion twisting torture.

“I just think it’s unfair that all these people are suffering forever because they don’t have a Heavenly bestie to fly in and save them. I got super lucky but that doesn’t make me more deserving of a second chance than them.” Eleanor tells him; “You haven’t given me a single reason for why you think I shouldn’t be in the Bad Place outside of ‘you like me’. That’s not enough to justify why this whole point system is so forked up.”

He tries looking away. It’s awkward enough having her sit on his lap like this, so casual. As if she thinks she owns him enough to use him as a chair. Well, it’s not as if he’s complaining.

If she could just shut up and they could sit together and watch the sunset…

“You agree with me.” Eleanor says, her eyes searching his, “Don’t you? You know I’m right.”

Michael’s lips twitch. He should have snapped his fingers and made her forget that stupid dream.

He puts his hands on Eleanor’s waist and gently but firmly lifts her off of him so he can get to his feet.

“No. It has to be right. It’s been that way for thousands of years.” He turns away from her. He doesn’t want to entertain this nonsense.

She won’t let it go.

“Slavery was around for thousands of years but we realised that was wrong. You said it yourself, you have no one who explains all these things to you. No God, no Buddha, no Kris Jenner. How do you know you haven’t all been doing it wrong for all this time, Michael?” She interrogates; “What if all your Good Place buddies are as much at fault for everyone suffering as the demons are?”

Again, it’s a struggle for Michael not to break into a mischievous giggle at that. To be fair, the angels he met were so naïve and overly trusting, they were too high on innocence to care about human suffering, let alone do anything to stop it.

Nevertheless, he knows the system can’t be wrong. Shawn. Every boss he’s had. They can’t all have told him lies about humans needing to be tortured. About how they deserved it.

How they all deserved it.

 _Except Eleanor._ For some reason. He wishes he could explain it just to shut her up.

“What do you expect me to do about it?!” He asks her, frustrated; “I told you, the day we met, there are layers of people above me, I was not kidding around, Eleanor! I am at the very bottom of who decides this sort of thing. All I need to worry about is the people in my sector and making sure they are happy. You are part of my neighborhood, mistake or not, that’s why I saved you! End of discussion. Anyone else is not mine or your concern.”

She scoffs, looking disgusted; “Fine, you wanna wash your hands of any responsibility to people in needless pain, that’s your per gay motive.”

“Prerogative?” Sometimes it’s a challenge to guess the words she mispronounces.

“Whatever,” Eleanor throws her hands up; “Look, bro, you can try to pretend to be human on this little vacation of ours – you can dress like a cool sugar daddy, you can learn to cook and do all our boring crab, but you will never what it’s like to be human unless you try to know the shirt we go through. The pain we suffer, as well as the fun stuff. Because sharing that pain with others and wanting to do what you can to stop it for both your sakes…That’s a huge part of what it means to be human. And I don’t think you’ll ever understand that.”

Michael can’t help but feel wounded. He wants to tell her how, despite a good part of a Bearimy or so, in the Bad Place, she still has no idea what real pain is like. She doesn’t have a clue what he’s lived through in his existence. If only he could tell her. If only.

“And since when did you, Eleanor Shellstrop, start caring about other people being in pain?” He asks her, quietly, not wanting to go there but she’s forcing his hand.

She looks resigned.

“Since I had to listen to them screaming every night. Michael…you can’t even begin to imagine what that sounds like, what it does to you.” Eleanor holds her book to her front; “I kinda hope you never do. Enjoy your movie binge, man, I’m gonna go read in my room.”

She walks past him, leaving a cold breeze in her wake.

Michael is left staring at the chair where they had been sat together a few moments ago. Close as anything one minute and then suddenly so far apart. It’s the first time they’ve ever really argued, at least when Eleanor was sober. He hates the empty, nagging feeling that’s been left in his chest.

Hearing the screams of the damned every night? She thought he didn’t know what that was like?

Oh, Eleanor, you beautiful dumbash.

*

Michael sits at his office desk, hands locked behind his head, idly stretching his feet out. He’s taking a moment, while the neighborhood sleeps, to think about the torture plans for tomorrow. What had initially begun as a fully mapped out plan was now a constant scramble of improv. Some of his team, like Vicky, enjoyed the challenge of thinking on their feet. Others were annoyed at their scripted parts suddenly shifting in character. He could appreciate the benefits of both, but the positives didn’t stop him from worrying about how this might ruin the longevity of his idea.

The humans were miserable. They were being tortured, in Eleanor’s case the most literal. All her friends were devastated at losing her, often turning on each other, Tahani blaming Chidi for keeping the secret, Chidi blaming Jason for being the reason he had to reboot Janet and Jason not really having a clue what is happening but being sad all the same. If nothing else, the plan was still a success.

They just had to work with what they had. It would all come together. If he just-

Fork.

He opens his eyes. He’s hearing it again. That damn _screaming_.

It’s been stalking him for days since Chidi made him listen to it. Every time he thinks he’s about to grab a single moment of clarity, it comes back to pierce his eardrums. He gets up, pacing around his office, covering his ears.

“Janet!” He eventually growls.

“Hi ther-.”

“Make it stop!” He orders her.

She looks confused; “Make what stop?”

“The audio clip! The one of Eleanor in the Bad Place! I keep hearing it, over and over, you must have pressed repeat by accident or something!”

He’d tried to block it out. He’d tried taking pleasure in it, reminding himself what a pain in the ash she had been. How the little bug deserved what she was getting.

It didn’t work. Every second of her wailing was a burning hot rod to his three brains.

“I am not currently playing the audio of Eleanor Shellstrop’s torture. Nor have I since Chidi requested it.” Janet informs him.

“Then where the fork is it coming from?” He asks Janet, showing more of his true self, his temper, than he ever intended to do with her.

He can’t help it. The sound is driving him insane.

“Unclear, Michael. If you are the only one hearing it then I suspect it’s your conscience.” She informs him, cheerily.

Did that make her the Blue Fairy?

He frowns at her, helpful as always; “Thank you, Janet. Go to your void.”

She does as asked. Michael spots the minion plushie sat in the cabinet behind where she had stood.

As he looks into its guileless eye, the sound increases. Almost as if it is coming from the stupid toy itself. He tries to leave his office and reach for the door handle. It melts like warm butter in his hand.

What the…?

The lights flicker and then turn off completely. He tries calling for Janet again. There must be a glitch. Multiple glitches. The show of the neighborhood being in danger of collapse was no longer needed, not without Eleanor here. Someone must be messing around without his permission. Everything was slipping out of his control.

Something is burning. The darkness begins to flicker an orange glow from an unseen flame. He can smell it. He can feel the heat. It’s part of him. He scratches at the arms of his skin suit. For the first time since he was presented with it, it feels uncomfortable. All too tight. The wrong fit.

Eleanor keeps on screaming. Louder and louder.

“Go away.” He hisses, his fingernails clawing deep into his arms, “Just go away! Leave me alone! Why won't you just leave me alone?!"

She doesn’t. Her voice rakes at him. It’s trying to tear his suit off. Reveal what he is.

Monster.

Sick forking monster.

“It’s not my fault! IT’S NOT MY FAULT!” He shouts into the growing furnace around him; “I’M JUST DOING MY DAMN JOB! I’M JUST DOING WHAT I’M TOLD!”

A new voice hisses in. All knowing, oh so smart, pesky little nerd.

“You did nothing. You did nothing.” Chidi taunts from nowhere; “What do you owe, Michael? How big is your debt?”

“Shut up, JUST SHUT UP!”

_“Michael, please!”_

“GO AWAY!”

The heat is intense. His suit is catching the flames, slowly disintegrating the fabric. The skin.

_“Make him stop, please! No!”_

“I can’t! I CAN’T! I’m...I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

*

It’s after sunset, she decides to put down her book. She had managed a good few hours of quiet reading but, if she’s being honest, she hadn’t absorbed or reflected on as much of Bentham’s ramblings as she had planned to. Her mind was elsewhere, which wasn’t unlike Eleanor when it came to studying. But unlike those times, she wasn’t distracted by the idea of ditching class to shoplift underwear or have a smoke behind the gym.

She hated falling out with Michael. It made her feel so shirty, leaving things like that.

The dude had been so good to her all these months. She wouldn’t be the person she’s managed to rebuild herself as now if not for all of his hard work and tender care. He did nothing to deserve becoming the target of her ethical crisis. He’d just been the easiest one in sight. He might not be an angel but he’s on the side of ‘Good’, that’s supposed to have all the answers. His answers amounted to ‘that’s the way it goes, get over it’ and that annoyed the Hell out of her.

She’d lashed out when all he’d wanted was a fun night eating pizza and watching movies with her. For an immortal demi-god, it was surprising how simple he could be. The little human things they did together, from getting drunk on margaritas to watching Netfilx, brought him as much joy as the magical shirt did Eleanor.

And she’d thrown that in his face for an insult he didn’t deserve.

She’s already decided to go find him, to apologise, when she opens the door and hears. The shouting.

“Leave me alone…JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!”

Eleanor frowns, trembling a little, that conditioned fear returning for a split second. If the one protecting her is in danger then what chance does she have?

No. Pull it together, girl.

She takes a breath and ventures out, trying to follow the voice.

“Michael?” She calls out, cautiously.

The living room is empty. No sign of him in the kitchen.

His office door is open, only slightly. She knows she’s not supposed to go in there. He’s never really said it out loud but she’s sharp enough to know it’s private. A lot of complicated Architect files and set up for the neighborhood she doesn’t understand. He also likes to play his guitar in there, which is another reason for her to steer clear.

She would walk away, go look elsewhere. But that’s where the short breaths and whimpering is coming from.

“Not my fault…Not my fault…”

Eleanor pushes the door open.

She sees that the office is a slightly smaller version to his one back in town. Most of the furniture appears to be the same, along with a cabinet containing his collection of human artifacts at the side, containing his paper clips and wax lips and bowling ball. She spots some recording equipment and a smaller photo of Doug Forcett on the desk.

And lastly, there’s the Architect himself. Sat in the corner, wearing his sad gray hoodie, head down, fingers clenched around a familiar Despicable Me toy.

She’s seen him like this before. Depressed and defeated. She’d almost forgotten how fragile he was after all these months of him being her rock. Her hero.

Eleanor kneels down in front of him.

“Hey buddy. You okay?” She reaches for his face and he looks up, eyes red and startled. She tries not to pull back.

Michael’s eyes take a moment to find her, blinking, recognising her.

“…I’m sorry. I’m sorry…” he whispers, letting go of the plushie and clutching her hand, so tight that Eleanor almost worries he’ll break it off her wrist.

No. He wouldn’t. Not Michael.

“What do you need to be sorry for?” She asks, baffled, but also feeling as though her suspicions that there’s more going on are starting to be confirmed.

Why would an angel ever need to be sorry?

Tears spring to Michael’s eyes as he looks at her; “I…I never should’ve left you…I never should have left you with him…”

“Hey…”

It’s Eleanor’s turn now. She wraps her arms around Michael’s neck and pulls him in close for her a hug. Her fingers stroke his surprisingly soft, white hair as she lets him cry into her shoulder.

Their legs intertwine, half on the others laps, as they cling to each other.

“You came for me. You saved me. I thought the whole world had abandoned me. You brought it back.” She reassures him, pulling back a little to look into his eyes, “I’m here, Michael. I told you. I’m right here.”

His tears run down beneath his glasses and she brushes them away with her thumb.

She gives him her warmest smile, which she’s relieved to find he returns, despite all the weepiness. Eleanor wonders which one of them looks the worst right now. Him, a sobbing old dude in a depressing hoodie. Or her, with her hair still unwashed after swimming earlier and in her chilli sauce stained shirt and leggings. Hardly the most attractive pair, conventionally. But screw being conventional. She knows they can both get it.

Michael’s eyes focus in on her, almost ready to swallow her, Eleanor feeling as though she could drown in his adoring gaze. He always looks at her that way. As if she’s the whole Universe.

No one has ever looked at her like that. The world, maybe. The universe?

This dude has seen it all. He would know. She trusts him.

It might be the worst of times, the most uncomfortable of settings and the most devoid of romance. It doesn’t stop Eleanor from trying. She makes her move, a bit gentler this time, kissing him softly to start. Once. Twice. So small that it could almost be called chaste. Michael barely reacts to begin with. Then he kisses back the second. The third time is his move, his hand sliding to the back of her head as he presses his lips to hers. Eleanor grips the collar of his hoodie.

Very soon, there’s tongues. Warm, heavy breathing, one heart racing away, hands feeling all over. Her lips on the base of his neck, fingers unzipping his hoodie. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his. Hovering with caution, as if afraid of hurting her, but also unsure where to go. Ah, Eleanor thinks to herself, newbie. Obviously.

“Eleanor…” he whispers, sounding so small, “I don’t know h-how…”

She smiles, a finger to his lips; “No worries. I’ll give you the tour.”

All other voices, all the doubts, all the dark naysayers and insults fade away. This is her choice, she thinks. Hers and Michael's. If it’s all a mistake then, dear God, she’ll make sure they both enjoy the fork out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to this vid for the theory on Michael's redemption and propinquity: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p9H78_uxewA&t=519s


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: Dubious consent? YMMV considering Michael isn't being straight with her...

This is nothing like he imagined. He never dreamed that it could feel like this.

From a distance, kissing had always seemed so ridiculous. Disgusting. Humans using the holes of their body against their designed purposes, transmitting all sorts of germs, smooshing aimlessly against each other. What was the point? How could they get so much pleasure out of it? Enough to cheat on their spouses, enough to betray friends and co-workers. And that wasn’t even going into how human intimacy had been presented in the Bad Place; as a weapon. A torture device.

Michael never knew that… _this_ , what he and Eleanor were tangled in right now, was an option. He was never aware how strongly his human body reacted to being so close to another, one he cherished more than anything in this multiverse. The suit wants to be as close to her as her own skin. It wants to feel every inch of her. It wants…He wants…

They spend a good ten solid minutes just making out. And it’s incredible. At first, Michael doesn’t see how it gets better than this. Holding Eleanor close. Touching her without restriction. Her hands exploring under his shirt, fingers sliding across his stomach, his sides, his back, his arms. They dig into him but he doesn’t feel pain. She’s clinging onto him, pulling him close, her sweet lips littering up his neck, his chin, back to his mouth again. He’s hesitant to hold her back with as much force as she gives.

Try as he might, he cannot blot out the memory of her scars. The bruises buried deep. Oh, what if he touches a part of her that is still raw, by accident? What if he hurts her and reminds her of…?

She pulls away from the kiss, her face still barely an inch away, her hand cupping his cheek.

“Everything okay, bud?” Eleanor pants, taking a breather.

Okay? If this is just ‘okay’ then what is the rest of it like?

“I…W-what do I do next?” He asks, lost and uncertain; “I don’t know how this is supposed to go.”

Darn it, he hates admitting his own weakness, especially to a lesser being. No, wait. This is Eleanor. She’s more than just some dumb human. She’s different.

She gives him a look that is so soft and understanding. He worries, for a moment, that it’s pity, before he reads the affection in her eyes. She hums and kisses his nose.

“Michael. You don’t _have_ to do anything. This doesn’t need to go anywhere, unless you want it to.” She assures him, a hand rubbing his bicep; “If you want, we can just keep kissing, until you wanna stop. If this is all too much, too…’human’, for you, that’s okay! I totally understand. I just…I’ve been imagining what it was like to kiss you for so long now…even before we came here, I thought about it. The whole authority figure got me going, right from when you invited me into your office that first time.”

He’s taken aback a little. She’s been attracted to him for that long? It shouldn’t be too surprising, he knew from her profile that she was drawn to smart, kind, firm and handsome people. It was why he had given her Chidi as a ‘false’ soul mate. Michael may have also subconsciously woven that into his Architect persona to get her attention, he’s only just realising.

When had he realised he felt the same for her? He tries to look back but he can’t pinpoint an exact moment. Instead there are several where he noticed different feelings progressing, point by point.

When he’d first met her and she had done a fabulous job lying through her teeth, it filled him with admiration he never thought he’d possess for a human. The moment she had called him her friend…that had hit him like a sledgehammer. Feelings so confusing and intense, he’d been forced to block them out. And then followed by anger and confusion when she had gone off script, stood up and confessed, ruined his plans. He remembers the aching loss when Trevor had taken her, like a kid having his bike stolen after saving up for a whole year. Bitter resentment when she left, turning to guilt when he was forced to listen to what she was having to endure. And then when he’d found her, small and broken in that cell, that overwhelming urge to protect and nurture her back to normal. His crippling fear at the thought of losing her again. His pride whenever he saw her improve. How he melted when she first looked at him with complete trust. The burst of joy when he heard her laugh for the first time in months. Frustration when she challenged his principles. Euphoria when she slept in his arms with a smile on her face.

And now this…It’s not the first time he’s wanted her this way. His brain had entertained the concept before, who knows what triggered it, only for centuries of demonic tutoring to turn on him, make him believe it was his duty to hurt her if he wanted her that way. So, he’d shut the ideas out. Better hide them away than risk giving into them, risk becoming what he’d saved her from.

Now, she’s telling him to trust her. To follow her lead. Not his boss’. Not his fellow demons. Not Trevor, fork no, never that. He’d rather be Retired.

She smiles at him, a finger reaching up to stroke through his hair.

“What do you want to do, hmm?” Eleanor’s hand slides down to his crotch, stroking over the denim, making him shudder. It’s different to before, to when she had been acting purely on her programming. He feels no shame in his body’s response. Eleanor even grins; “Ah. Glad to know you have one of these after all. I wasn’t sure.”

If he were a real man, he’d probably be insulted by that. He doesn’t take offence. It’s not as if it’s a part of his skin suit he considered important before this night. Just a strange ‘hanging bit’ he had no use for. Turns out, he would do. It only took a few hundred years.

He breathes out, touching her face; “I want…I wanna make you happy.”

Eleanor blinks and then smiles, wider.

“This is kinda meant to be a two-way deal, bud.” She reminds him.

“I know…But…That would make me ‘happy’…I think.” He knows that seeing her like she is now, radiant and excited, is spurning his body on and thrilling him all over; “But…I’m afraid, Eleanor. I’m…I’m so scared of h-hurting you. Of doing it wrong…”

“Welcome to what every first timer goes through, dude.” Eleanor reassures him; “It’s what every stupid teen or young adult experiences. You wanna know a secret? None of us have a clue what we’re doing first time. And it usually sucks because of that…Unless you take your time and listen to what the other person wants…Even better if you have a good teacher.”

She plants her mouth below his ear, making him gasp.

“Which you do, by the way,” Eleanor whispers.

Her hands unbutton his jeans, tugging at his boxers, freeing him from confinement. Michael holds onto her as she moves onto his lap, her thighs grinding softly as she continues to kiss him. His hands wander down her sides, her petite frame, so full of confidence, those small shoulders sheltering an unbreakable will to survive. He slides a hand under her shirt and finds her bra, stroking her breast beneath the cup.

She reaches her hands behind her back to undo it, taking it off and skilfully slipping it out her sleeve. He blinks in wonder, as if having watched a magic trick. Then she’s back to kissing him again, hot mouth against his, and Michael unbuttons her shirt so he can have a true feel, a tender caress, fingers brushing against her nipples that are starting to harden. That…seems to be a good sign.

Michael lets her pull off his hoodie, grateful as the heat becomes too intense, even for what he really is. What he’s never felt so far from being until right now. 

The more clothes that are removed, the better he is able to examine her aura. It’s different than any time he’s looked at her before. The energy surrounding her is crackling like a sparkler on the Fourth of July. There are so many shades of red, not all that would be visible to the human eye, but Michael sees them. He can read them. He leans forward and mouths a spot on the side of her neck, testing her response. She moans with delight. Fantastic. He pulls back for a moment, looking her up and down, memorizing every other zone of potential pleasure like reading a map before heading into the wilderness.

She sits back, panting heavily, frowning as he stares at her. Her hair is a mess, sweat glistening on her forehead.

“What you lookin’ at? It was getting good.” She says, reaching for his shirt; “…You wanna stop?”

Michael shakes his head.

“No, I…” He looks at her, up and down, once more. He grasps her hands; “Do you trust me?”

Eleanor sighs, heavily, and smiles. She doesn’t even blink.

“Yeah.”

Her fingers squeeze around his.

Michael only has a vague plan. Something, the only thing, he feels can do that would be…right. He might fork it up. Oh, he’ll never forgive himself if he does. But he has to try. This might be the only chance he gets. He can’t let it slip him by after thousands of Bearimys not knowing what he was missing.

He picks Eleanor up, hands under her ass, holding her to him. He lifts her with him as he stands and quickly takes her to the desk. He sweeps off his pens, the nameplate, the photo of Doug (it’s hardly the original) and lays her down. She gazes up at him, a flash of uncertainty, mixed with a hint of excitement. He knows that she was expecting to be on top, to take control.

But this isn’t about control. At least, Michael thinks it shouldn’t be. Not with her.

He gazes down at her. His Eleanor.

His.

Oh, it feels so different when he says it to himself now. No longer a possession. No longer a pet. But his. His friend. His companion. His…whatever she wants them to be when all this is said and done.

“You, Eleanor Shellstrop, are incredible.” Michael tells her, stroking her forehead; “…I want you to know that for the rest of your existence.”

For the first time since she regained her ability to talk, she looks speechless. Her smile is weary to show. He sees it that there’s a part of her, a fractured piece of what she’s rebuilt, that doesn’t quite believe him. That is still convinced she’s as low and worthless as what Trevor convinced her she was.

Well. That changes tonight.

He starts with her lips, leaning down and kissing her, feeling the sweetness of her tongue against his own, her hand reaching around to comb her fingers through his hair, brushing down the back of his neck. His hand wraps around her other wrist, gently, as he starts to move his lips down. He follows the map imprinted in his head. All the little areas that will make her tremble, make her gasp, make her wet. He sees to them all with a kiss, a soft nibble, a caress. There are some advantages to being an immortal being who can see in nine dimensions that he has over some naïve college boy who hasn’t a clue about the female body.

He also knows Eleanor. He’s studied everything about her and he knows what she wants him to go and where she doesn’t. Like her feet, he’s sure to avoid, as she hates being touched there.

But the rest? Oh, boy.

Each moan and cry of arousal vibrates out and catches onto him, encouraging him, pushing him to journey on. Journey downward. He looks up at her as he tugs at her leggings, needing her to give him a sign before he can go further.

She cranes her head up with effort. She nods.

“P-please…”

She doesn’t need to beg. Her wish is his command.

He pulls the waistband down, not surprised she isn’t wearing any bottoms. Going commando was on the list of her secret shames, despite not really being ashamed of it. Michael doesn’t care. He’s just grateful he didn’t need to dress up in a muppet eagle costume to turn her on.

As he glances down at her, his thumb caressing the inner side of her thigh, he can’t help but wonder why whatever Creator possibly existed before him decided to put all Their effort into designing female reproductive areas and phoned in whatever they went for with males. Michael kneels down and kisses up her leg, then the other, making his way closer to her.

“Holy shirt, Michael…” He hears her cry, almost laughing with her surprise.

She hadn’t expected this much initiative from him. Neither had Michael. But then again, he’d always been the creative type. Trying out risky new ideas. He thought his Bold New Plan would be his magnum opus.

Now he wonders if this will be it instead.

When his nose finally brushes against her labia, he finds her moist and waiting for him. His kisses are like those of a man dying of thirst against her tender skin. It makes her hips buck upward, her body thrumming, as his tongue follows the signals of her aura. There’s no room for chinks or mistakes. She’s going to get _everything_ she deserves.

When Eleanor starts to scream his name, her voice breaking, Michael reaches up to clasp her hand, fingers interlocking.

_I’m right here._

The words don’t need to be said. It’s a promise shared between them. A contract, never to be broken.

His tongue explores inside of her, as deep as he can go. It’s the one part of his body, aside from his eyes, that is familiar to his original form. He knows how to work it right. Not that he ever imagined it would be used for this, the closest he’d probably come being licked out the inside of a finished frozen yoghurt cup. He allows himself a cheeky giggle at the thought of requesting one in this flavour.

Eleanor’s Delight? It has a ring to it.

She arches her back as he presses his lips over her clit. She’s holding onto him for dear life, as if she might implode from the waves of intense pleasure shooting through her. Michael is so close, her soul melding with whatever he has which passes for a ‘spirit’, she’s sharing everything she experiences with him. What was that she had spoken about before? Sharing pain and pleasure being a human experience he would never know?

Wrong, Shellstrop. This must be the most human he will ever be, he thinks slyly, bringing her to climax as he licks her again. When he does it again, less than ten seconds later, her scream is so intense that it stills him.

It sounds so similar to…

He looks up, leaning up and over her face again. Tears are streaming down her cheeks and she’s trembling terribly, beads of sweat pouring off her forehead. Her head is framed by loose, long, blond hair spilling out like gold paint around her. He strokes her cheek, looking worried.

“Eleanor…Are you…” His mouth is coated in her essence.

She weakly turns her eyes to him, summoning a spaced-out grin.

“M’on cloud nine to a hundred, genius…Don’t stop now…” Eleanor reaches up to grab the collar of his shirt, pulling him down into another messy kiss, probably eager to taste the part of herself caught on his lips.

That little egotistical side of her made his insides sizzle with want.

He carries on, a slave to her every whim, utilizing his tongue, his fingers, eventually pulling her legs around his waist and learning to use his male human’s suits own tool to enter her. At this point, Eleanor is riding such a high that she barely notices him struggle to find her at first, barely used to using the thing. He prefers his mouth and hands, easier to find the right target. This just felt impractical. Pleasurable, as it was designed, but Michael’s brain isn’t wired the same as a human male’s.

His focus is purely on Eleanor as he lifts her up again, guiding her arms to cling around his neck, legs around his waist as he leans against the desk and lets her ride him. With what little energy she has left after climaxing more times than she ever knew in one go before, even better than her threesome with her gymnast roomie and her Swedish boyfriend, she digs her fingers into his shoulders, arching up again, gyrating against him with her last ounce of strength, hair cascading over her now naked torso, until she comes for the final time that session.

“Oh God…Michael…my forking God!” She cries out, his undone shirt locked in-between her fingers.

Michael knows she’s spent when she flops against his shoulder, her body going limp as a ragdoll. He breathes out, echoing her exhaustion, his knees buckling before he sits, bringing them both down to the ground.

He rocks her against him, arms holding her close, his own peace fractured when he hears her sob.

“Oh, no…” Michael rubs her back, “Oh, Eleanor…Please don’t cry. I thought that…”

The whimper turns into a broken laugh.

Eleanor pulls back, eyes red, tears soaking her cheek; “M’not sad, dummy…It’s happy crying, ‘kay?”

Happy crying? Oh, like that day on the beach. When he’d seen her walk for the first time after everything she had been through.

How far they had come since then.

“Y-you sure?” He needs to know for certain. Was he okay? Did he do it right? Was it too good? Did he somehow turn pleasure into pain?

Not even Michael is always sure what he is capable of.

Eleanor brushes her nose against his.

She strokes the side of his head, his hair to his jawline; “…H-He never let me…do that…He m-made sure I never enjoyed it. E-Even when I d-did do what he said…p-pretend to touch myself…I wasn’t allowed to enjoy it. He made sure that…anytime I thought about it…I’d be in agony.”

This is the last thing Michael wants to hear right now, after experiencing that, of all things.

But Eleanor needs him. Eleanor needs to say these things. So, he listens

“I was so scared, Michael…I was afraid I’d never be able to get close to anyone in case all I felt was…”

Pain. He knows.

He cups her cheek in his hand and kisses her nose, softly.

“Wanna know a secret?” He whispers to her, “My kind…we were taught that we could never be with humans like this. That if we did, it would be too painful for you. That…it would be too much. We were told that it was wrong to be friends with humans, let alone…”

“Fork buddies?”

Michael grins, “I was gonna go for ‘lovers’ but, trust you to lower the bar. Either way, they made me think that anything like this would be a mistake, that I shouldn’t trust myself to be with you, in case I…” He takes a breath, holding Eleanor’s arms, gently; “…I…They were wrong. And now I’m curious what else they were wrong about.”

He bites his lip, feeling his own eyes threatening to leak, pent up emotions spilling out like a geyser.

Eleanor curls against him on his lap, in a similar position to how they started out, to how she had found him in the middle of his break down. When he felt as though he was about to drown in a cold lake of guilt and confusion he’d never known was secretly there all along, a constant existential hazard.

“It’s like…they dunked me in a pit of tar…and then you came along.” He whispers to her, “My lifeline…My rope..”

She hums, arms slipping around him, letting out a wide yawn as she struggles to stay awake.

“Rope…? M-maybe next time…kinky angel.”

*

Eleanor wakes to a kiss. A simple, soft one planted tenderly on her lips as she stirs.

A nose brushes against her cheek; “Mornin’-.”

“Call me ‘sleepy head’ and I will snap your glasses in half.” She threatens, playfully, slowly opening her eyes.

The first thing she sees is Michael beside her. That’s not new. It’s how she’s woken up almost every morning for the past few months. There are more than a few tweaks to this occasion.

To start with, they’re not in her room. Nor are they on a bed. Instead, Eleanor finds herself lying on the floor in Michael’s office, her legs stretched half-way underneath his desk. Somehow, they seem to have acquired a blanket and at some point attempted to meld the two items into a fort that didn’t quite work out. Clothes are strewn all over the room. She’s curled in against Michael, the chest which she had been using as a pillow a lot recently now bare against her face. He’s even warmer now, skin to skin. She feels no rush to get dressed when he’s more than enough comfort.

Possibly the fact they are both completely naked is what makes this totally different to any time they ‘slept’ together before. Way different. It was almost like waking up with a whole other Michael.

“Did we manage to get any sleep?” Eleanor smiles, fingers stroking his collar bone.

“A little. Heard you snore.” He teases her, making the same ‘hoking’ noise that she had once mocked him for before. She giggles, squeezed in his arms, his lips on her forehead.

Bliss.

“Gotta say…I popped more than a couple cherries in my time. I think that topped them all.” She comments, “I mean…I forking loved it…I got the impression you did too?”

It takes a second for the details for everything they did that night to come to her.

Eleanor looks up at him, forehead creasing; “I don’t think I remember you…y’know. Finishing?”

“Oh, I did. I mean, if you’re asking if orgasmed, yes, I’m pretty certain, a few times.” He tells her, fixing his glasses straight, “I’m not quite the same as a human guy though. The suit I wear, it doesn’t have the same…fluids. Because, y’know, they’re disgusting. Not that yours were, but..."

Eleanor nods. She gets it.

Wait. Did that mean that when Trevor enjoyed coating her with his demon spunk it was even more unnecessary? Just something he added to the torture and humiliation? Forking ash-hole. Sick creep.

“I kept wondering how you were able to last for so long.” She strokes down his side; “Guys are usually so impatient, especially the first time. With you it was like…you could last for as long as I needed. God. It was like…having sex with a woman.”

Michael looks touched at that.

“Wow. Thank you, Eleanor.”

There’s no sarcasm. Because, unlike most men who would take that as an insult, Michael knows it’s a compliment. He knows that some of her best sexual experiences have been with other women. They tended to find it easier to share the pleasure between them and understand what the other needed.

“I should admit, I cheated a bit. Kinda used my powers to tell what would turn you on the most.” Michael confesses, looking almost sheepish.

“That’s not cheating, dude, it’s just using your senses, which a lot of guys don’t with the five they’ve got.”

She smiles at him, adoringly, tracing the lines on his face and then stroking down to his chest.

“I never asked before…how did you get to look human?” She asks, curious.

“Everyone who works in the Bureau of Human Affairs gets randomly assigned a human skin suit to get the feel of how best to…provide for you, fulfil your desires.” He explains, “Believe it or not, this wasn’t my first option. I was supposed to look like a young Greek woman, but there were some holes in the feet they couldn’t fix up. So, I got this one instead.”

Eleanor spends a second picturing what a far different experience she could have had tonight. Not that she was unhappy with what she was given.

“Does that mean…angels or whatever you wanna be called…pretty loose on the whole gender thing?”

“Oh yeah, we’re centuries ahead of your silly, primitive fixations with all that.” He says, obnoxiously, and she rolls her eyes.

“Hey, dude, makes no difference to me. If you ever wanna try on a different suit for shirts and giggles, I’ll roll with it. But I really do like the one you have now.” She grins, reaching around to rub her hand over his ass, “This one ‘feels’ the most Michael-y.”

He smiles, rather bashful. It’s so cute.

“You don’t…wish I looked younger? I used to be so jealous of this old colleague of mine, his skin suit was almost a carbon copy of Keanu Reeves. Everyone used to go nuts over him.”

“Hey! Fake Keanu has nothing on you, buddy.” Eleanor leans up and to kiss him, properly, hand on the back of his mussed up hair.

She never really saw the appeal of Neo to begin with. More of a Trinity or even Morpheus girl.

“Anyway,” she smiles, pulling back, “Giving you a baby face isn’t gonna stop you being billions of years older than me…You dirty cradle-snatcher.”

Michael laughs at that, his hands moving to her waist and rolling her upward to lay on top of him. They spend the next few minutes kissing and laying together. Eleanor can almost see them both spending the whole day like this. What else do they really have to rush back to?

A part of her knows what. She knows this will come to an end. Someday. It has to.

For now, however, she’s content to rest in this tiny pocket of Heaven, wrapped in the arms of her…

Not an angel. More than a friend. What were they now? Did they need a label?

“When I came in here last night, what got you so upset?” She asks, only now having the memory come back to her that she hadn’t originally planned to have mind-blowing angel sex in a private home office, “Was it what I said earlier, about the points? Because I didn’t mean to get on your case about that…”

Michael sighs, beneath her, “You just…got me thinking about a lot of stuff I hadn’t really bothered thinking about before. And, given how long I’ve been doing what I do, it shook me up a bit.”

“Hey…I know none of it is your fault.” She comforts, “I know how much you love humans. You’re like…President and CEO of the human fan club. I bet if you had the power to save everyone from the Bad Place, you’d do it in whatever you have instead of a heartbeat.”

He gives a small noise of what she assumes is agreement.

Eleanor can’t help but feel marred by the sense that he is hiding something from her. Perhaps it’s something that he thinks she wouldn’t be able to understand with her simple human brain. He might be right. Or maybe there’s more going on with the Good Place and the points system than was explained in that cheesy introduction movie. It’s not all otters holding hands while they swim.

“I was mostly thinking about you.” He confesses, holding her body close to his; “Worried about losing you again. Thinking about how stupid I was to let him take you before.”

She kisses his jawline; “Don’t even worry about that. It’s all old Eleanor’s life now. New Eleanor is _very_ happy with her holiday home and celestial boyfriend.”

He blinks, gazing at her.

“…Boyfriend?”

Eleanor smiles, a little nervous; “Yeah. That okay? I know it’s like…super high schooly but…if we have to put a label on it. I like you, you like me. We’re clearly more than just snuggly roomies. I’ve never been as close to anyone as I’ve been with you. We’ve shared so much over all these months. Usually I go away with a guy I like, I’m itching to talk to new people or get away from him, in like a week. But with you? I feel like I could stay here with you…forever. I know that’s not possible, but-.”

“I feel the same.” Michael replies, cutting her off, “I wish we could too.”

His eyes tell her that it’s one fantasy which not even he has the power to grant her. Darn it.

“I feel like…I need to stay with you, whatever happens. Like, you’re a part of me, Michael. Almost like we’re…”

It hits her like a thunderbolt.

Fork. Is that even possible?

“Eleanor?” He asks, frowning at her.

“Well. If Chidi’s soul mate is Real Eleanor. Then…is it possible that mine is…” She glances up, blinking at him; “Michael, could _we_ be soul mates?”

He looks rather lost for words. Clearly, the idea has never entered into his head before.

“I…I’m not even sure if my kind can have…” He admits, touching her face; “…I’d like it to be true, if that counts for anything. But I don’t want to say it is when I’m not certain. I won’t lie to you.”

Eleanor gives him a smile, grateful for his honesty, and rests her head back on his chest, her hand finding his again, kissing his knuckles.

“No. You wouldn’t, would you.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ten points for whoever spots a certain other 'afterlife' reference!

Click.

_“Day Nine. Boy, this was a tough one! Eleanor had spent most of the night screaming her head off. I wouldn’t be surprised if the noise somehow echoed back to the neighborhood. Tell you what, it was the first time I understood the urge to hold a pillow over a human’s head. Not that I did it but…the thought came into my mind. Pretty sure the only reason I didn’t was because it wouldn’t have shut her up, just muffled the noise, as she suffocated without ever actually ‘dying’. Classic breathing torture from the old days. Anyway so, when she finally did get to sleep, I decided not to wake her up till almost noon. Terrible idea! Threw out the whole routine we’ve been working on. She didn’t wanna get out of bed, wouldn’t take any food, even after I spent hours mastering how to scramble eggs! Ungrateful human. Though, to be fair, next time I’ll remember to heat the pan first…”_

_*_

“Eleanor? Come on now. You can’t stay there forever.” The soft voice tries to coax her out.

Why not? She hugs her knees close to her chest, trembling on the floor in the corner of the small, empty closet. So dark and bare. Enclosed. It’s the closest thing in this strange new place that resembles her cell. Her home.

She was told she belonged there. For eternity.

At first, she hadn’t believed it. That was because she was Bad and stupid. So He had to drill it into her, sometimes literally, powering up the device and driving it into her back, her joints, one time even her brain until she was blinded white with agony. It had taken a long time, immeasurable by human perception, but, eventually, He had gotten through to her. He had taught her well.

She was trash. She was supposed to burn. She deserved everything she got and more.

The torture was always cruel and humiliating. But it was what it was. And she had come to accept it as her just desserts. She knew her place. At least, she had until Michael showed up.

“I really don’t want to just leave you here, but I can’t stay and wait for you to move and I won’t drag you out.” He tells her, sounding more tired than an immortal being should.

Eleanor may be trying to wait him out. Get him to give up.

Why doesn’t he? Can’t he see what she is?

It had been a few hours since she woke, caught up in drenched and tangled bedsheets after a terrible night of vivid hallucinations, feeling even more exhausted than before she had fallen asleep. Whenever she woke, Michael was usually there, either leaning over her or standing a metre away from the bed, as if steering clear of the danger zone. His face was a frown of confusion and worry and something Eleanor couldn’t decipher. She assumed it was disgust. He must be able to see how Trevor visits her in her dreams, how he loves to remind her who she belongs to.

He then whispers generic words of comfort that have no real meaning. He might touch her shoulder or pat her head, every gesture somewhat stiff and uncertain. He’s probably never had experience soothing a human before. Not one as damaged as Eleanor. Humans weren’t supposed to be hurt or traumatised in Heaven, after all.

Michael had tried to get her to eat some lukewarm, raw eggs that made her vomit. She had been so repulsed by herself, ruining the bedspread, that she scampered onto the floor, quick to avoid any blows that Michael might inflict for her mess, scurrying as quickly as she could for the closet and curling into a foetal position. She waited for her punishment. She waited for her hair to be pulled, for her skin to burn as she was dragged across the carpet, for her face to be shoved into the puddle of her own puke. She waited for Michael to lash the skin off her body and beat every bone till it cracked. She waited. And waited.

No blows came. No angry words. Nothing, for a while. She was left to whimper, quivering terribly, wanting for this new nightmare to end to get back to the one she knew.

When she finally managed to move from her lying down coiled up position to her sitting coiled position, she noticed with a sniff that the vomit was gone. Her bedsheets changed and clean from what she could see from her closet, the door open wide. She wonders if she should close it. Doors are supposed to be closed. It’s worse when they’re open. They bring hope. Closing the door herself might also be bad, though. Best just sit and wait. Karma will bring what she’s due. It always does.

“I’m not mad, Eleanor.” Michael tells her, kneeling outside the closet; “It was my bad. Again. I’m still getting the hang of this cooking human food. It’ll be better next time. How about you come out and I can ask Janet to get us something, ready-made so we know it’s good? Some burgers? A hot dog?”

She hides her face in her arms. Doesn’t he get it? She shouldn’t have any of that stuff! The only thing she’s allowed to eat is spiders and even they bite the inside of her mouth and crawl away before they can be swallowed. She can drink hot animal piss if she’s a very good girl. And she is. Oh, she will be very good for Michael if he would only give the command.

He sighs, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“This is getting us nowhere. If you wanna stay here and mope then, fine. Some of us have work to do.”

Michael leaves Eleanor with a pound of guilt in her brain. Now she’s pissed him off. Enough to leave.

He could have slammed the closet door and left her in darkness. He doesn’t even close the one in her bedroom. Is she trusted with so much freedom? It has to be a trap. Or a test.

If she stays real still, real quiet, waiting in her new cell…It might be okay. She might not be tortured quite as bad as in her old one. Just what she is owed. Which is a lot, yes, but that’s what you get for being a dirty little Arizona whore.

A tiny shred of her psyche screams for salvation.

Michael. I don’t like it here. Michael, please. Come back. Help.

*

_“To think, I got a message sent through to me from Guess Who yesterday. Damn Trevor, sending a voice mail through his Bad Janet to my Good one. Ding Dong actually made me an offer! He said, to make up for ‘mistreating’ my human, he was willing to work out an actual trade off. That if Eleanor is too far gone to be of any use as a psychological torture puppet then I swap her out for someone else – I mean it’s not as if Shawn would know. All humans look the same to him. So, Trevor hands me someone new from the Bad Place to use in Eleanor’s stead…And I give her back to him…To keep doing whatever he wants to her…Forever. Huh. I think our Trevor got a little too attached to his foster human.”_

The mocking in the recording sounds a little forced. Not to mention, ironic. Maybe even self-deprecating. It’s followed up with the weary sigh of a strung-out demon.

_“As pissed off as I am with Trevor, I can’t deny that it’s an option. I mean…at the end of the day, I have to put the experiment first here! This is my big chance to prove myself to the Boss. It’s a great opportunity to revolutionise the Bad Place. I can’t let one ruined human be the reason it all falls apart, not when it was going so good. Ugh. Eleanor is…or rather, was, a great sport but there are a million trash-bags like her coming in every day. She’s not irreplaceable…”_

The contemplation is followed by a heavy, tired pause.

_“We...We’ll see how it goes. If I’m actually able to make any progress in good time. Janet’s book says recovery like this can take months and, even if I were to adjust the time streams, I don’t have it in me to put that much effort into just one, pathetic human. Maybe I would be better cutting my losses and starting a fresh, best that I can…Trevor wouldn’t have her though. Some other demon, any demon, but not Trevor. He can go fork himself.”_

_*_

After having a much-needed vent into his audio diary, Michael drags his feet back to Eleanor’s bedroom. She’s been huddled in that closet for the better part of a day now and the sun has gone down. He supposes that, if she really plans on spending the night in there, he could spruce it up a little. Lay down some pillows, a blanket, hang some of those little lights. Maybe that would make it too appealing for her, if she’s looking to torture herself like this.

Ah, fork. She was doing what he always intended her to do and it still wasn’t right! Damnit, Eleanor.

He hasn’t been in the best of moods all day. Watching Eleanor cry and shriek and thrash in her sleep all night, unsure what he was supposed to do to stop it without using magic to freeze her solid, had been a dreadful experience. The best method he seemed to master was simply waiting for her to tire herself out and go back to sleep. Keep a close eye in case he needed to restrain her from hurting herself, which she often did. Digging her fingernails into her own arm, biting her bottom lip until it bled, trying to pull her hair out.

The girl, his human, was a mess. A husk that bore a faint resemblance to the woman who had danced like a gorgeous storm through his neighbourhood before.

After several long, incredibly tedious days in this house, Michael had begun to feel heavy with the malaise of being a carer for someone who barely acknowledges your existence. No conversation, no show of gratitude (that wasn’t conditioned and sexual), not even eye contact. Trying to take care of a human was enough of a daunting, new experience but having it be this draining, this isolating, it was driving him insane. He could leave her to it, like he did at the start, distract himself with TV shows or any hobby he desired, plotting out ideas for when he gets back to work full time. Except then, Eleanor had been left to wallow in her own filth and almost dehydrate. He also couldn’t simply raise the volume on the TV or radio to block out the sounds of her night terror screaming.

If he was to be her carer then he had to do just that. Care. What demon is supposed to have a clue what that truly involves? He’s way out of his depth.

Michael steps in front of the closet in Eleanor’s bedroom, finding the woman in the same place he left her a couple hours ago. She hasn’t budged. His shadow moves over her and she doesn’t show any kind of reaction. It’s as if she’s not really here, merely a projection, her true spirit still trapped back in the real Bad Place. He sighs, toying with the silly idea, that maybe it would be better just to be rid of her. Send her back. Set himself free.

He steps closer and notices her squeeze her knees in close, as if wanting to be even smaller. Invisible.

“I’m going to get Janet to bring a pizza. You’re welcome to come out and eat some with me, if you want. I’ll save you a few slices, regardless, and leave them on a plate. Okay?”

Once again, there is nothing. Not even a nod. Not a blink.

Glassy, haunted eyes stare out from the dark corner she shelters in. It’s like talking to a brick wall. Even the walls in his town, which he designed, had much more personality.

He contemplates telling her. He imagines grabbing her by the shoulders.

_“Stop this now, Shellstrop! Snap the fork out of it and pull your shirt together! Would you rather I send you back there? Hmm? Don’t tempt me. All I have to do is push a button, like last time, and your skinny ash will be booked to travel on that train again – and this time no one will come to get you out! So start talking! Start being fun again or I'm done with you!”_

Even picturing himself saying the words is too much to handle. He feels angry. Furious. But, he’s not entirely sure Eleanor is the cause of it. And, for whatever reason, taking it out on her doesn’t quite seem. Right. Fair, even, as insane as that is.

“I’ll come check on you again later.” He tells her, blandly, going to move away.

He takes two steps before he almost trips, something caught around his ankle.

Michael frowns and looks down.

There’s a set of fingers hooked around his leg. He goes still and turns back around, keeping his eyes down, his mouth hanging open.

Eleanor is on her hands and knees. She’s shuddering all over, the tiniest of whimpers leaving her lips. Michael isn’t entirely sure what she’s trying to do. What she intends. More than a few times, over the past few days, Eleanor has made attempts to physically touch Michael only for it to turn into something weird and gross. Trying to suck him off, nuzzles against his crotch or chest, attempting to move herself into his lap. He hated it. It almost made him want to avoid touching her at all if that’s what she thought it all must lead do.

He worries this is more of the same, especially when Eleanor starts to crawl forward, her arm sliding around his calf. Michael fears her trying to ‘greet’ him again, as Trevor had ordered from her every time he entered, dry humping him like a dog. Forking sicko.

She doesn’t grind. She doesn’t kiss.

Eleanor simply holds onto his leg, both arms moving around, clinging on for dear life. He feels the tears on his trousers before he even registers her sobbing, her face pressed against the fabric.

Oh. Oh, wow.

He’s suddenly overcome with an emotion he’s unfamiliar with and doesn’t quite have a name for. He gasps, finding himself short of breath. That’s what a rollercoaster this day has been, despite the lack of any real physical exercise.

“Shh, hey there,” Michael reaches down and strokes her hair, “It’s okay, Eleanor. It’s okay.”

She responds with desperate, keening noises, muffled against his knee.

It’s not okay. Just look at her. There’s two conflicting shades to her aura, one opaque and the other violently sharp, wrestling for supremacy. Two sides her soul having an inner battle and it’s crushing her. She is trying. She’s not completely lost. It took a while for Michael to really see it. It must have been going on since before he came to get her in that cell, once Trevor shattered her mind after countless hours of mistreatment. Eleanor summoning the smallest ounce of strength to reach out for Michael tells him one thing.

She cannot do this alone.

It’s a rather startling revelation for Michael. He knows Eleanor’s life story. She was surviving on her own, more or less, since the age of five. She’s never had to depend on anyone for support, whether financial or physical or emotional, until after she died. She had no choice but to reach out for Chidi’s help to save herself. And, of course, Chidi helped her without question. Michael was no Chidi. He didn’t have a clue what he was supposed to do…

He then starts to notice how Eleanor stills against the touch his hand. How simply his close proximity to her is bringing some tiny semblance of stability. Is that it? Has he been making this more complicated than it needed to be?

Michael kneels down, picking her fingers from his trousers, putting his hands on her shoulders. Her eyes stay fixed below his face. She’s yet to find the courage to meet his gaze yet. In time.

“Tell me if I’m wrong but,” he whispers, holding her hand, “Dull closet like that is no place for a sweet girl like you to hide away, correct?”

There’s a brief reaction on her face. A twinge of surprise at what he’d called her. He’d momentarily forgotten that he was no longer pretending to believe she was ‘Real Eleanor’, the goody two shoes, the dead saint. They both knew this Eleanor Shellstrop was anything but sweet. She was hard, sour candy, wrapped in a deceptive sweet roll. Sour Girl didn’t quite have the same ring to it.

What’s more, after the disbelief passes, there’s a glimmer of light in her eyes. Even if they both were well aware it wasn’t accurate, it seemed to warm a part of her to have someone believe she could be that. Or maybe she was so starved of affection that she will take what she can get.

“How about we eat some pizza and watch Season 2 of Friends? The best one, before Ross started to become a total deckhead.” He offers, stroking her hair.

She nods, only slightly, communication ever so limited these days.

There’s more energy in how she slides her arms around his neck when he picks her up. She’s painfully light in his arms, as if she’s barely there. Michael knows he needs to work on his cooking, fast, to feed her up to a healthy weight. She’s so… _little_ , right now. It awakens a protective instinct he’d thought was long buried.

It takes him back to the first time he ever saw a human. It was millions of years before he’d landed his first job. It was before he’d even got his own suit. He was still in the lava pits, spending most of his time redesigning the stalactites while his fellow squids raged about, playing basketball with T-Rex skulls. Even then, Michael – which hadn’t been his name at the time – was an outsider. He’d never felt a connection to any of the demons or hellish creatures around him. He never remembered feeling anything.

Until one day, a new creature had found its way into his little dimension of Hell. Michael wasn’t at his full size but the thing was still miniscule to him. The size of a dormouse. Or a cockroach. They were even more primitive back then, grunting and crawling, not much different than apes. But there was something new to this one. A spark in its eyes as it looked up at the giant monster who had spotted it. It had cowered, shrinking back against the rock. Michael had reached out to it.

_What are you doing here, buddy? Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you._

Except he had. The acidic juice that poured out of every sucker on him melted the skin off the creature’s bones as soon as he reached one cautious tentacle out to it. He’d recoiled back, watching what remained of the little thing explode into flames from Michael’s brief attempt to connect.

No. No, he hadn’t meant for that to happen…!

But his fellow demons had seen, stopping their game to come over. For the first time in his existence, they’d patted Michael on the back, congratulated him for torturing his first of the new species coming in from ‘above’. _Humans_ , they were called. They were going to be all the rage, apparently. Some kind of infestation coming to them from Earth and it was their new jobs to exterminate them…or at least, make them suffer. Michael had basked in their praise, suddenly hungry for more, what shame he’d felt for hurting that human soon being forgotten once he was taught that was the point. They deserved it.

It hadn’t looked dangerous. Or evil. It had looked…lost. Scared. Alone.

Michael looks at the human in his arms, now. Another cockroach, no bigger than before, only difference being Michael is the smaller one this time. He feels it, as he holds her close, as he carries her through to the living room. His touch doesn’t burn this one. She doesn’t recoil in terror. She hangs onto him as though he’s her whole world and, at any second, he could drop her into the abyss forever.

“I won’t let you go.” He swears to himself, more so than her, “I won’t ever let you go.”

*

Eleanor taps her hand on the side of the Mercedes, the windows and roof rolled down, nodding along to the tunes playing from the retro style tape-deck. She appreciates how Michael could have summoned a car with an iPhone jack but decided to go old school.

She also loves how, despite the wind gushing past, it doesn’t mess up her hair. It really is like living out some unrealistic movie scenario in this place.

They’re taking a drive up toward the mountain range. Sometimes it was nice to explore more of this little pocket sector that had been designed for them rather than simply hanging out on the beach or going to a simulated bar or restaurant or concert, the last one always being the most difficult with too many people in a crowd to keep from glitching. She did try not to ask too much of her not-angel boyfriend, and when she did, she usually found an exciting way to make it up to him.

All she needed today was a car, because there was no way he was going to get her to go hiking, her sunglasses and, most importantly, a sexy Architect.

“Woo! Turn it up!” She cheers, changing the volume up herself so Michael can keep his eyes on the road.

Which he doesn’t, naughty boy. She sees him often giving her the side-eye. He struggles to keep his eyes off of her and she can hardly blame him.

It had taken a long time for Eleanor to regain that confidence in her appearance without it being countered by a savage insult in the back of her head. The memories of her time in the Bad Place grow more distant every day. Once it had felt as though they were lurking around every corner, waiting for a moment she let her guard down, to pounce and rip her to shreds. Now she can walk with her back and shoulders straight. She can sing without stuttering, especially after many karaoke sessions. She can dress herself up, wear what she wants, without seeing the word ‘whore’ flashing in neon letters in the reflection.

She could enjoy herself, ‘know herself’ if one understands her correctly – aka, jerking herself off. Or her and Michael enjoy each other’s company. Aka, forking each other. Just to get to the point.

_“In this world we’re just beginning,  
To understand the miracle of living,  
Baby, I was afraid before,  
But I’m not afraid anymore!”_

She had her life back. Well, afterlife. More than she ever thought would be possible.

The music pumps through her veins as she raises her hands up in the air.

_“Oooh, baby, do you know what that’s worth?  
Oooh, Heaven is a place on Earth!”_

“It’s not, you know!” Michael shouts over the music; “There’s about sixty dimensions between here and Earth! This song is terribly inaccurate!”

“I know, and it’s cheesy as shirt. It’s the eighties, that was the point! It was the decade of churning out beautiful trash.” Eleanor laughs, leaning against his side, under his arm, while he keeps one hand on the wheel.

“Case in point?” He says, squeezing her shoulder.

“Exactly.”

Eleanor distracts Michael for a brief moment, tugging his face in for a kiss, before it nearly sends the car off the track and he has to straighten up.

She watches the ocean pass on her right as the road takes them further upward. She had encouraged Michael to drive faster only for Janet to appear, wearing a traffic warden hat and sash, sternly reminding them there is a limit of a hundred miles an hour, regardless on if anyone else is driving. Janet can be intimidating when she wants to be.

It’s another half hour until they reach their destination. A clifftop on the other side of the mountain. Not too far up, not quite near where the snow peaks are, enough to get a view of the whole mini-world that’s been fenced off from them for all this time.

Michael parks the car and Eleanor steps out. She went with a short dress which, as they had ascended, she thought might be a bad call without a sweater, but once again the weather was still rather mild and the breeze settled. She walks closer to the edge of the cliff, gazing out at the view. Fields and lakes stretch out for miles beneath the perfect azure sky. There’s too many trees in place for her to spot the neighborhood. It’s probably too far away anyway. She’s slightly grateful for that. It was enough, for now, just to be reminded that the rest of the Good Place was here. Practically in her back yard, so to speak.

She takes a camera from her bag and takes some snaps. She still misses her phone but some classic pre-Insta photography provides a good enough fix. She’s tried to take as many as she can at the beach house and during the simulations, grateful for Janet’s unlimited cloud storage, wanting to be able to look back at all of them when they finally go home. Whenever that is.

Eleanor tosses the camera to Michael and does some poses in front of the view.

“If I have a double chin in any of these, you’re sleeping on the sofa.” She warns.

“Oh good. I might get to go a night without being kicked in the shins.”

She grins, “Don’t be a baby. You know I’m worth the pain. C’mon, selfie time.”

“I do hope the human who invented that word is getting the right amount of torture.” Michael groans as Eleanor beckons him to join her on the edge and takes the camera.

It’s a rather odd comment to come from a Good Place employee. She lets it slide.

After many more snaps of them holding each other, kissing each other, Eleanor pretending to push him off the edge and Michael summoning a wind that nearly sends her flying, they lay out a blanket and sit for their cliffside picnic.

“Do you wish we were a bit closer?” She asks him after they’ve finished their burgers.

Michael shrugs; “We could be, if you want. You might drop your food though and it will be pain in the ash to get back up.”

“I meant closer to the neighborhood, idiot.” She teases him, “This is the nearest we’ve been to it. Do you miss it?”

“’Course I do. It’s my life’s work.” Michael says, looking out at the treetops; “…But I know it’s still there. Janet’s looking after it. And I’ve got some pleasant distractions.”

He winks at her and Eleanor nods.

“Right. You’ve watched every YouTube tutorial that has ever existed by now, haven’t you.” She knows that wasn’t what he meant.

“Not quite, I’m still making my way through the cross-stitching. I notice you’re not wearing the hat I made.”

“Oh, dang it, the dragon must have eaten it!” She throws her hands up, theatrically; “And then, possibly, vomited it a mile out into the ocean. What you gonna do?”

“You’re not as good a liar as you once were.”

“I know, it sucks.” Eleanor admits, laying down with her head in Michael’s lap; “I used to be so cool.”

Michael smiles down at her, stroking her hair; “You’re still the coolest human I know.”

“Cooler than Doug Forcett?”

“Well…that’s a pretty high bar, almost impossible, but…You’re definitely prettier.” He leans down and kisses her, his hand running down her side.

She’ll gladly take that.

She does feel as though she’s less…sharp than she once was. No matter how much noise and courage she can muster, it’s like the corners of her brain have been dulled a little, her senses no longer as acute as they used to be. It might just be that she’s not been around anyone in a long time except for Michael, Janet and the NPC’s in the simulations who only spoke the same loop of dialogue. She still worries that, when they get back, the others will see through her bluster. They will see the timid little sex slave Michael discovered in that cell.

“I think we should go back.” She tells him, a little later on, her head now resting against his shoulder.

He blinks at her, “You sure? You…feel ready?”

“No. I don’t think I’ll ever feel ready. That’s just it.” She tries to explain; “I’m never gonna be the same Eleanor as I was before. And…maybe that’s okay. It’s just another thing I’ve had to get used to. If I keep waiting until I feel ‘ready’ then we might be here for who knows how long…And I know that’s impossible.”

Michael is quiet for a moment. Then he shuffles to his side, looking at her.

“It’s impossible for us to stay here forever. But there might be other places we can go.” He says, a little weary; “If you don’t wanna go back to the neighborhood…We can find somewhere else. Anywhere. We can just keep hopping dimensions until we find somewhere that’s safe.”

Eleanor smiles; “Shellstrop and her Rogue Angel, storming through Heaven? Does sound exciting. But…” she looks back at the view; “…I need to see my friends again. And you need to get back to your job. Like you said, this was your life’s work. I know it means everything to you.”

“That’s not quite true anymore.” Michael squeezes her hand.

“Sappy.” She grants him a kiss on the cheek, nuzzling him a bit; “…Wow, how long have we even been here?”

“A couple of hours.” He says, checking his watch.

“No, dude, I mean…Here. How long has it been since we came to the beach? I don’t even…”

It’s the first time she’s really thought about it. True, she had her calendar of hot mail men on her wall but, given that Martober had the sexist picture, was she really expected to change it?

“It will be a year, day after tomorrow.” Michael tells her.

That somehow feels both far longer than she expected while at the same time, looking back on all that’s happened, like not enough time either.

“It feels like it’s gone by so fast.” She says, as time usually does when the good things come to a close, she tells herself.

Michael smirks; “You slept through most of it.”

“Shut up. You’re one to talk, you’re the first immortal being who has ever learned to sleep.” Eleanor jostles against him. Another thought occurs to her; “Wow, where am I gonna sleep when I get back? I mean, I can’t stay in Real Eleanor’s house anymore, if she’s there. I guess if I ask Tahani real nice, I can get one of her box rooms, or something-.”

“I will make you your own house.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was working towards.” She confesses with a grin; “I don’t need anything too big or too fancy. Just, y’know, hot tub on the roof, Bose speakers in every room, little essentials like that. Actually…you can just make it like the beach house, without the actual beach.”

“Really?” Michael looks surprised.

She nods; “Yeah…Makes sense that I want us to live in a replica of where we…came together.”

There are words on the tip of her tongue. Deep, important words that she’s not sure if she’s ready to say just yet. But also afraid she might not get a more perfect moment.

Michael blinks.

“Us? You want us to live…together?”

Oh god, she hopes she’s not about to scare him off. Usually she was the one doing the run on a guy getting too serious with her. It was odd to be on the other side for once.

“Yeah…If you want?” She offers, “I get that when you’re back, you gotta be the big important Architect again. You got three hundred other humans to take care of. We’ll probably hardly see each other. So, I mean, it would be nice if we could at least…live somewhere we can both come back to at the end of the day, spend what time we can together…Somewhere nice to keep forking each other’s brains out, what do you say?”

“I’d say that was sounding very charming until the end. But I agree.”

Eleanor’s face lights up with a smile that Michael shares, touching her face.

“Will you get in trouble with your boss for dating a human?”

“Maybe. If he finds out.”

“Ah, _if_. I like if. If is fun.” Eleanor leans in to kiss him again.

A bit of risk is always sexy. But there is a part of her that worries at the idea of Michael getting retired if them being together is too dangerous. She hopes it doesn’t come to that.

“When do you wanna go back?” Michael asks.

“How about we enjoy that one-year anniversary first? And then leave the next day?” She suggests.

Anniversary. It feels more like a new birthday for her. A year since this whole new life of hers started. A year since she was carried out of the dark. A year of relearning everything she had once taken for granted. A year of nightmares, of sweet dreams, of conquering fears, of laughter, of trials and tears and fall-

“I love you.”

At first, she thinks the words slipped out, thinking aloud. Then she realises they weren’t from her.

She looks at Michael, stunned.

“I mean…I don’t have a grasp on all the human emotions. But I think I understand this one,” He tells her, his lips twitching, shyly; “I think I love you. And I know you don’t feel comfortable saying those sorts of things, so I’m not expecting anything back, but I needed to tell you, in case something happens when-.”

“Michael.” She puts her fingers to his lips, tears in her eyes; “I love you too. In fact, I’ve been psyching myself up to say it, because this view is so damn incredible, it’s the perfect spot. And you just made it so much easier by saying it first, which has just made me even more horny.”

“Always an ideal result.” He replies, hands on her hips.

“I almost said it that night you literally took me dancing on the stars. Because…wow, I’m still recovering from that. My mind was a bit overly blown, I think.”

And that was before she talked him into having sex on a comet. Of all the simulation dates they had gone on for the past few months, that was definitely the most wild.

At least the words were out there now. It somehow made her feelings somewhat tangible.

Michael was right. She had only said those three words to two guys before and one of them was by mistake, the other a celebrity crush. After being raised in a cave with two Neanderthals tearing lumps out of each other, she’d convinced herself she was incapable of finding true love. She would have to settle for casual sex and fair-weather friendships. Nothing too close. Nothing that’s worth getting her heart broken for.

She looks at the not-angel holding her in his arms and kisses his lips again before resting her head on his chest, beneath his chin, watching the gorgeous skyline he created. This might be worth it. God, yes.

“We gotta do it at least once before we leave this spot or I’m drop kicking you off the cliff.” She tells him with a smile.

He kisses her hair; “Noted.”

Eleanor sighs, her hands on his arm around her. She’s never felt safer, or more loved, in her entire existence.

*

Click.

_“Obviously, I don’t plan on agreeing to Trevor’s sordid deal. Eleanor is mine. It will be a long road ahead to get her back to an agreeable state but that’s my problem to deal with. Playing the role of a caring guardian is enough punishment for my mistakes before. I was able to get her to come out of her hiding spot today with some soft words, warm food, all that sappy crab. She fell asleep on my lap during the One With Two Parties and went off peacefully when I tucked her into bed. I have her trust, I think. I can get this to work. Whatever I need to do or say, whatever act I need to put on, to get her out of her shell…So be it.”_

The tape ends.

Michael removes the reel and tosses it into the garbage can along with the others. He snaps his fingers and watches the voice, the thoughts, of a creature he no longer recognises, burst into flames and quickly melt into black, silent goo.

Moving to his desk, he picks up the photo that used to contain Doug's face. Now it's the 'selfie' (ugh, that word) of him and Eleanor kissing in front of the skyline.

He has to tell her the truth. He knows there is no other choice.

If he doesn't, she'll soon work it out when they get back. If she goes around making it obvious they're together then the demons will say or do something to put him in even more hot water. But if Michael tells Eleanor the truth, if she agrees to play her cards right, to keep up the act of an unknowing torture victim, they might have an out. She will hate him. She'll probably take back the words she said on the mountain. But he knows she'll agree to the plan, to save herself, to help her friends. And she'll be, somewhat, safe. It's the only path to take.

Two more days. Michael can cherish as many memories as possible , just him and Eleanor, before it has to end. Before the curtain needs to fall.

And if it means losing her, letting her go, to save her...So be it.


	14. Chapter 14

_“Michael! Michael, help me!”_

There it was again. That stupid dream.

He’s starting to get used to them now. He knows not all dreams are horror fests. Sometimes they can be mysterious, playful and straight up random. Much like his vivid day dreams but with a lot more surprises, though often far less purpose. Sometimes the dreams were about Eleanor. The times they had spent together, the possible things they could do, or sometimes just being aware she’s there, beside him. So close. She seems to always know when he has dreams like that because there’s a smirk on her face when he opens his eyes.

Clever little know-it-all. It’s a wonder she hasn’t seen through him completely.

Sometimes there are bad dreams. Dreams where he’s being told to hurt Eleanor, or any human, against his free will, simply because ‘that’s how it should be’. Dreams where she sees his true demon form and runs away forever. Dreams, like this one, where Trevor gets his hands on her again and takes her back to be broken down. Beaten. Flayed. Burned. Raped. Reverting her back to that base state.

The very thought sends cracks through his essence. He would save her, again, of course. He would go through every hour of care work to look after Eleanor again. He would do anything to protect her. He never wanted her to suffer like that again.

But. It’s just a dream. He tells himself that now, every night. It can’t hurt him. It can’t hurt her.

She’s right here. She’s always right here with him.

“Michael! MICHAEL!”

Or sometimes it’s not his dream at all. Sometimes it’s hers.

Even after a year, the night terrors show their face, usually when they least expect it. Janet predicts they will always be a part of Eleanor, in much the same way a soldier returning from war is haunted in their sleep until their old age. Some wounds are too deep to every fully heal. Eleanor had been told that and, like a true champ, she accepted it. She had reached for Michael’s hand and just made him promise that he would always be close to wake her up out of them, easing her tortured brain slowly back to safe harbour.

He had promised.

Michael puts his hand out to stroke her hair, her shoulder, her arm. Ready to tell her that he’s right here and that she’s got nothing to fear. He’s got her. He wouldn’t let anyone or anything hurt her again.

His fingers stroke the bedsheets; “….’Leanor?” He mumbles.

“MICHAEL!!!”

His eyes open. Fork. It’s no one’s dream.

The spot beside him is empty. He sits up and snaps his fingers, turning the lights on.

“Eleanor?” He calls.

He leaps out of bed, snapping his clothes on, searching around the room for her. He even checks the closet, just in case.

A sharp wind enters the room. He turns, noticing the window is open much wider than before.

“MICHAEL! MICHAEL!”

The heart-wrenching screams make every inch of him run cold. His chest gets tighter by the second.

Behind the screaming, he can hear the sound of a train horn. Ready to depart.

No. Oh no, no, no.

“ELEANOR!”

*

So much for making the most out of their final two days. Michael had woken up, the morning after burning his recordings, having slept through a rather pleasant dream for a change involving diving into a pool of paperclips like a poorer Scrooge McDuck, to an empty bed. It wasn’t often that Eleanor got up before him, lazy bones that she was, but sometimes she surprised him by making cereal and brewing his antimatter for him, now that he’d taught her how to prepare it without making her hand turn inside out.

She hadn’t been up to make breakfast this time. He eventually got up to find the bathroom door locked and could hear the sound of heavy retching on the other side.

“Eleanor? Is everything okay?”

Another sloppy vomiting sound made him recoil a bit. As much as he loved Eleanor, adored every part of her body, there were still things about humans that grossed him out. All the liquid parts really.

“Right as rain!” She clearly forces the laugh, “M’just…Upset stomach. I’ll tell you about it later.”

He frowns. She’d never been sick like that before. She wasn’t supposed to be able to get ill or food poisoning of any sort. She had thrown up before, that had been down to pure anxiety. It made Michael nervous if she’d had another night terror and she was ashamed to talk about it. There was very little they didn’t share these days.

Except. Well. The big thing.

Soon, he reminds himself. He can tell her soon and then it will be the last of any secrets and lies between them.

“Anything I can do to help?” He asks.

“Janet’s holding my hair back for me. She’s got it covered. Thanks anyway, babe.” Eleanor then follows up with more vomiting.

Michael is more than happy to let the girls, or girl and not-girl, sort themselves out with that one.

When Eleanor finally emerges, he can see there’s a redness to her eyes, surrounded by pale skin. She doesn’t look well. Not the skeletal creature he had rescued from that cell, but definitely under the weather. He’d immediately gone to give her a hug only for her to step back, holding her hand out, flashing an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, dude. You mind just giving me a bit of space?” She asks, looking tired. She must have been in there most of the night without him knowing.

“Of course.” He offers her some water, which she takes; “Something wrong?”

She looks a little sheepish; “So…I tried some shrimp. I mean, it’s been a year, right? I’ve got over most of the stuff Trevor implanted in my brain. But he put me off my favourite food. I’d hoped by now I’d be able to eat just one piece, so I asked Janet, and then…”

“Gotcha.” Michael smiles, reaching out just to touch her arm. She feels tense; “How about you go lie down? Try and keep your thoughts seafood free?”

She doesn’t object, gladly taking her drink and disappearing to her bedroom.

Michael sighs, flopping down on the sofa. He’ll have to scratch off the list of things he had planned out for today. So much for giving her a tour of Hogwarts after he’d tried to memorise the most likely layout from those books. So much for a ringside viewing of Steve Austin vs Mike Tyson. There’s no reason he can’t save those for another day, even after they get back to the neighborhood, but they were supposed to be anniversary presents for her. Besides, there’s a very likely chance she won’t want any more dates, virtual or otherwise, with him once he’s told her the truth.

Eleanor doesn’t emerge from her room until after lunch, just as Michael is making some long sandwiches (not baguettes, he’s not condemning himself even more). She’s managed to get dressed and looks a lot less sickly, having thrown some make up on. There’s still something off. He tries not to push.

“There’s my girl.” He says, opening his arms to her and, thankfully, she smiles and lets him hug her this time; “Feeling better?”

“Doin’ just fine, Mikey, my man.” She sounds a lot cheerier now. The nap must have done a world of good. She pulls back and looks up at him; “I’m sorry about this morning. I don’t think it was just the shrimp. I think I’m…getting nervous, y’know. About going back. M-maybe it is still too soon.”

He strokes her cheek; “We don’t have to go back quite yet. We can stay a week or maybe a month longer, if you want.”

He wishes, more than anything, that it could last forever. Just the two of them here in their own private paradise. He knows it can’t. Having the sector run in two different time streams, so far apart, the town running at a dead snails pace compared to their time here, it wasn’t good for the infrastructure. Too much longer and Janet wouldn’t be able to keep everything stable, either here or in town. Besides that, his colleagues would soon be wondering why he hadn’t returned yet. Shawn would find out. It was inevitable.

But he and Eleanor could run. They could try to find somewhere else. He had pitched the idea to her and done his best to hide his disappointment when she hadn’t agreed. It always came back to her stupid friends. The ones who were supposed to make her miserable. Michael had really forked that one up. And then there was that annoying voice in his head, reminding him, those pesky friends of hers were still his humans too. He might not care about them half as much as he did Eleanor but…they belonged to him, all the same. And he would be retired before letting Trevor touch a single one of them. They didn’t deserve…that. They only deserved what punishment Michael thought was fitting.

Eleanor smiles at him; “Still think we should stick to the plan. I know there were things you wanted us to do today and tomorrow, I’ve kinda ruined that, haven’t I.”

“Yes. But do go on.” He jokes.

“Anyway,” she rolls her eyes; “I might not be up for anything too adventurous tonight. But I think I’ll be fine with some drinks. Quiet small-town bar. Karaoke?”

Michael hums and returns her smile. There was always time for karaoke.

*

Wow. It’s the only syllable in Michael’s head when he sees her.

The black dress she’s wearing looks incredible, fitted perfectly around her hips, her weight and posture restored to as it had been after a year of healthy dieting and rebuilding her confidence. Her long hair is half up, the rest in loose curls down her back, scarlet lipstick making him want to ruin her make up with a kiss right now.

“You look amazing,” he tells her when she exits the bedroom. She had insisted on black tie and, for whatever reason, for him to go with a bow-tie again.

It’s been so long since he’d worn one. He liked them enough, but they were only ever really part of his Architect get up. Part of a costume he preferred. It feels odd to wear one again. Almost too tight around his throat, especially when he’s faced with his girlfriend who he knows, in his core, is totally out of his league.

She moves up close and gives it a tug before running a finger down his shirt.

“I know. And you…are definitely the hottest angel I’ve met.”

“You’ve never met any other angels.” He points out. And he’s not a forking angel. He’s a demon and not the first one she’s met of those. She could compare him to those if she…

Ah.

Eleanor grins, mascara perfectly framing the cheeky glint in her eye; “That’s right, I haven’t. Guess I’ll just have to assume the best.”

She offers him her arm.

“Shall we?”

Michael smirks and takes it. He snaps his fingers.

They walk through the doors of the simulated bar. Not quite as large a crowd in this one but hardly a dive either. Perhaps a bit more upscale than the usual haunts Eleanor frequented back in Arizona. More the kind her richer boyfriends would take her to and she would end up going home with her handbag stuffed full of crystal ashtrays and branded shot glasses.

He walks her to the bar and asks what she wants.

“Tequila slammer.” She requests.

Michael raises an eyebrow; “You sure? You not feeling a bit sickly still?”

“Nah. I need the liquid courage. Besides, it won’t ruin our fun tomorrow. No hangovers, remember, dummy?” She taps his temple with her finger.

He asks the bartender to give the lady what she requests. He goes for a JD and coke for himself. She knocks the shot back eagerly and then asks for another.

“You sure everything is okay?” He asks. He’d prefer not having to deal with a wasted Eleanor tonight but he doesn’t want to be the super controlling boyfriend stopping her from having fun.

If she needs to get drunk, let loose, to get all that tension out…

“Always the worry wart.” She says, teasingly, “You should relax, Mikey. I dunno if anyone has ever told you this but…you’re in the Good Place. Remember? Chill.”

He laughs at that. It’s funny enough on its own without the bonus irony she’s unaware of.

“I’ll always worry about you a little, that’s my job.”

“I thought you were an Architect? I thought your job was…Architecting?” She tosses back at him..

He smirks and strokes her back; “I meant my job as a boyfriend. It’s what I’m supposed to do, right? Look after you? Be all chivalrous?”

“Right. My Knight in silk armour,” Eleanor jests, her finger poking at his bow-tie; “I think you’ve mastered that performance for all its worth. Time to relax. Take a load off. Because, as you said at the start; _everything is fine_.”

She moves close and cups his cheek, leaning up to kiss his lips, lingering there for a moment. Michael closes his eyes, the mellow ambience combined with Eleanor’s soft mouth calming him a little. Maybe it’s him who is overly tense. He can’t deny that he’s had moments where his nerves have turned to stone at the very thought of the worst scenarios which could occur once they get back. And they all involve Eleanor never wanting anything to do with him again. Or worse, losing her to the real Bad Place again.

He slides his hand down her shoulder and her arm, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Everything ok, bud?” She asks. Always able to notice when it’s not quite for him.

He nods; “Yeah…They are for now. Maybe not when we get back but…We’ll see. I just wanna enjoy being with you now.”

She looks into his eyes, as though she’s searching for something. Her hand strokes behind his ear.

“Michael. I know you’re not sure if we’re soul mates or not but…You told me that you loved me.”

“And I do. I really do.” He’ll say it a thousand times if it makes it more true.

“Got it.” Eleanor smiles, eyebrows rising, “If that’s the case then…There’s nothing we need to hide from each other, is there? After everything we’ve been through…everything I’ve been through…what I’ve done…What we’ve done together…It all means nothing if we can’t be honest with each other, doesn’t it?”

Michael nods. That’s true.

But why is she bringing this up now? He frowns. Does she…? No. Can’t be.

“I feel like there’s a lot you’re not telling me. About the Good Place, the Bad Place, yourself, the other humans…?” She says, because Eleanor Shellstrop is still no idiot; “I’ve suspected it for a while now. It’s like you’re afraid of what I’m gonna say if I know the truth but…Michael, there is nothing you can say that would change how I feel about you. You know that, right?”

No. No, he doesn’t. Because there is no possible way she could ever understand what he is. What he’s done. Oh, if she knew half the things, she would never want him to touch her again. And she would be right to run as far as she could. Run from the monster.

“I’m billions of years old, Eleanor. There’s gonna be a few gaps in my résumé as far as you’re aware.” He tries to joke but it comes out hollow.

She gives him a rather sad smile and rubs the back of his neck.

“Did finding out that I wasn’t some heroic lawyer saint who fed starving kids make you change how you feel about me?”

“Yes.” He says, stating the obvious; “I wasn’t in love with the saint.”

She reels a tiny bit at that, struggling not to tear up. She puts her arms around his neck.

“And I wasn’t in love with the all-wise, all-knowing Architect angel dude. I fell in love with you. The real you. I just…wanna be sure I’m getting the real deal. You know all there is to know about me. You love the real Eleanor. I love the real Michael.” She lays it out, so simple, “…Don’t I?”

He can’t seem to hear the rest of the music in the club. Eleanor’s words enclose around him like a steel trap. The real Michael. Does he even know who that is anymore?

A torture loving demon? An angelic saviour? A strung out, bumbling Architect?

No. The only time he’d ever be free to be himself, to do what he wanted, to dress and say and act as he pleased…was this last year. With Eleanor. He’d been without the restraint of his demonic purpose or his job for the first time since he left his volcanic home sector. He’d learned to think for himself, to challenge the views and ideals installed in him after centuries of ‘training’. He’d only told one constant lie throughout. The rest had been all in earnest. He’d been able to experience more than a few human activities without feeling ashamed for his love of them.

He had been free. Free to laugh. Free to learn. Free to love.

“Yeah,” he tells the woman who made him feel alive for the first time; “This is the real me, Eleanor.”

She blinks. And there’s something, just a twinge, he’s not sure what. Maybe he imagined it.

“You’ll never lie to me, will you. You’ll never betray me. You’ll stand by my side no matter what.” The tears in her eyes build a little more as she moves her face close to hers, no doubt desperate for reassurance after the crushing abandonment she’s had to endure; “Swear on my soul?”

He takes a breath and kisses her forehead.

“I swear.”

Starting now. He will never betray, never lie, and he will always be there.

It’s not a new lie if he keeps the one he has going, just for a couple more days. Then the slate will be clean. Even if she despises him, he will keep his promise. Forever.

Eleanor smiles through her tears and rubs at his chest.

“Okay.”

She breathes out. And Michael is sure that she’s sated, for now.

He leans down to kiss her and she responds, a little brief, before gently pulling back. She turns to the bar and takes another tequila slammer, knocking it back down her throat. She orders another for ‘her boyfriend’ and Michael begrudgingly agrees to join in, always thrilling a little when she calls him that out loud. It will be even more exciting when she’s doing it in front of real people, mostly her friends, as no other demon can know about them, unless he comes up with a genius scheme in the next twenty-four hours.

Maybe getting hammered tonight was a good idea. They needed to lighten the mood.

“Right!” Eleanor says after her third shot; “Karaoke time, baby!”

“What we doing tonight? How about we stick with the eighties? Cyndi Lauper?” Because everyone knows Time After Time is the greatest song ever, no arguments.

Eleanor winks at him; “Mind letting me go solo tonight? I’m feeling a special one for you.”

He glows with pride. He’s found her singing by herself a few times over the past few months, in the bath, in the kitchen. This will be the first time she’s been brave enough to do a song on her own. He’s excited to see her beneath the spotlight, to bare her spirit, all for him. He nods, letting her go up onto the stage.

Self-confidence radiates from every inch of her as she walks tall up the stairs, having mastered moving in high heels again, back straight and head up high, as she makes her way to the mic. She presses some buttons on the screen at the side to select her track.

She grabs the mic off the stand, “This one’s dedicated to my own angel buddy.”

Michael narrows his eyes, giving her a wry smile. She says the last word with such an edge to it. She knows that it riles him up but she continues to say it. For the same reason he calls her his sweet girl. What is love if not being comfortable gently torturing each other?

“ _An angel’s smile is what you sell,  
You promised me heaven then put me through Hell,  
Chains of love got a hold on me,  
When passion’s a prison, you can’t break free.”_

There’s so much power and strength in her voice, in her eyes, that Michael can scarcely believe that this is the same woman who stammered her way through their first performance not too long ago. She holds the mic almost like a weapon to her lips, her other hand twirling the lead with an air of seduction as she struts forward, hips swaying.

Her eyes never leave Michael. She looks hungry, as if she were a lioness targeting her prey. She’ll devour him and he’ll do nothing but stand there. She can do whatever the fork she wants to him.

_“There’s nowhere to run.  
Nothing can save me, the damage is done!”_

He wonders if hanging out with that group of Sirens he summoned the other week was a good influence on her or not. She definitely seems to have mastered this sultry musical vibe. Michael can’t deny that it’s having an effect on his skin suit. Hearing her sing so loud, so fearless, watching her move like a goddess, owning the room…It’s rather difficult to hold himself back from grabbing her and pinning her down on the stage. She’s pretty sure she would get off on that as much as him.

She plays with her hair, working her body in all the right poses, ones she’s learned well from her singing icons. Rhianna has nothing on Shellstrop. She bats her eyes at Michael as he comes nearer, knowing she has him under her spell.

_“Shot through the heart and you’re to blame,  
Darlin’, you give love a bad name.  
I play my part and you play your game,  
You give love a bad name…”_

He’s been moving closer to the stage without truly realising it, the cheering virtual crowd parting like the red sea, as he gets closer to her. She’s incredible. She’s gorgeous. She’s all his.

Eleanor rounds off the song with a punch and then drops the mic.

She skips off the stage and into Michael’s waiting arms, hooking her legs around his middle, tugging him into a heated kiss. He holds onto her tight, tasting her, savouring the flavor. It might be one of the last moments he gets to do so.

Fork. He doesn’t want to give her up. He knows he might have to. But.

Shirt.

Stay. Just stay with him, please. He never wants to be alone again.

*

He wakes up alone.

He wakes up to an empty bed. He wakes to the sound of her screaming.

They hadn’t made love after the night ended. A lot of kissing and drunken groping and mumbled words of affection and devotion. There was even some biting at one point, he could still feel the marks on his neck. But Eleanor had felt too queasy after all the tequila, once the simulation was over and they were ready for bed. She had undone his bow tie before they collapsed onto the mattress.

She had promised to give him a surprise in the morning. One he would never forget.

And now she was gone.

“HELP ME! MICHAEL, HELP ME!”

No! No, Eleanor! This can’t be happening!

Michael races out of the beach house as fast as his stupid human-suit legs can carry him. He regrets not taking up jogging during this getaway. His cardio is awful. He ignores the stitch in his side as he runs down the road and towards the train station.

He spots it right away. The large, domineering black steam engine parked on the tracks.

“Eleanor!” He shouts again, sprinting onto the platform; “Eleanor, where are you?!”

“Michael!”

He sees her exit through the back door of the carriage, still wearing his shirt as a nightie, the sleeve almost torn off from some sort of scuffle. Her hair is mussed, tears on her face, breathless.

Oh. She’s safe. Thank the non-existent God.

“Eleanor! C’mere, quickly now.” He beckons her off, holding out his hands.

There’s a trace of a smile on her face, full of relief, and she moves to reach for him.

The carriage door smashes open again and a thin figure in a leather jacket steps out. He throws an arm around Eleanor’s neck and tugs her back against him. She lets out a squeak as the point of a steak knife is pressed against her side.

Michael seethes, clenching his fists; “Trevor.”

“Hey, Mikey!” the demon grins; “You didn’t respond to my J-mail. So obviously I assumed you agreed to our little deal. I’ll be taking the trash bag off your hands and will dump off the replacement in your skid mark of a town tomorrow, sound good?”

Despite her fear, Eleanor frowns, steadying her breathing. She’s being so brave, Michael can’t help but feel a little proud.

“Deal? What deal?” She asks, her gaze on Michael; “What’s he talkin’ about?”

“N-nothing.” Michael stammers, “Just ignore him. Trevor, I did not agree to any deal! Just let her go and leave us be! She’s staying here!”

Trevor laughs; “Here? Does she even know where ‘here’ is? Hasn’t she worked it out yet?”

“Worked out what?!” She asks, clearly getting more frustrated. She tries to wrestle back against Trevor’s grip, attempting to kick back at his legs.

He jabs the knife in her side, just a prick, enough to make her yelp.

Michael winces; “Trevor, I mean it! Hurt her again and I’ll-.” He raises his hand.

With one snap, he could set the filthy creep’s clothes aflame…but then he would risk burning Eleanor. He could send something flying to hit him…but, again, it might smash into Eleanor. Perhaps it was worth the risk of harming her a little bit, if it meant getting her away from the one who tortured her, who will gladly continue to torture and molest her for eternity if he takes her away.

Trevor raises an eyebrow at his hand quivering, thumb and middle finger pressed together.

“You gonna start up the Addam’s Family theme or something?” He mocks; “Ooh, I’m terrified! C’mon. We know where this dumb-dumb belongs. I’m just taking her home.”

“She’s not going anywhere with you!” Michael growls.

“She knows it as much as we do, Mikey.” He refutes, slipping his tongue over Eleanor’s ear, making her cringe, “Don’t you, El Dog? You know where you belong. Besides, you’re not gonna want to stay here. Not when you know the truth. Go on. Ask your buddy over there. Ask him what he really is!”

Eleanor looks at Michael. She barely seems to notice that there’s a trickle of blood from her side, staining her shirt with a growing blot of red.

“…Michael?”

Her voice sounds so small. So pleading. Trust suddenly fragile.

The words, the confession, is there on his tongue. Just say it, Michael. Tell her. But, fork, what if Trevor is right? What if it breaks her and she won’t come off the train? He won’t give Trevor that victory. He won’t let him have anything. Once she’s on the platform with him, once she’s safe in his arms, he’ll tell her. He’ll tell her everything.

“Give her back, Trevor! Now!”

The demon rolls his eyes and grabs Eleanor’s wrist, “Y’know what? I’ll be sure to fill her in on all the juicy details once I have her tucked up back in her cell. Done it up real nice as well, installed a new acid shower. And we’re gonna have plenty of time to talk from now on. Well, I’ll be doing most of the talking, once I rip out that dirty tongue of hers again. I’ll send it to you in the post.”

He starts to drag her back into the carriage.

“MICHAEL!” She screams, struggling against his grip, fingers prised around the door frame.

The train starts up, slowly moving away.

“ELEANOR!”

He rushes to the edge of the platform. He reaches out and grabs her arm, running as the train gains speed. He’ll pull her off if he has to.

“Janet!” He shouts; “Janet, stop the train!”

“I can’t do that, Michael. It’s not mine to control.” His mainframe informs him, appearing behind him.

Rage boils beneath his skin. Useless! Forking useless!

He tightens his grip on Eleanor’s hand as she’s pulled further from him, Trevor and the train wrenching her in the other direction. He won’t let go. He cannot risk letting her go. Tears stream down her face. She’s crying his name, her voice barely audible over the sound of the horn and the juices rushing in Michael’s eardrums.

“You’re hurting her, Michael.” Janet warns, over his shoulder.

“No, I’m saving her! She’s got to stay with me!” He snarls as the train begins to outrun him.

Eleanor screams, her arm twisting in its socket.

“Let her go! Michael, you have to let her go!”

“NO! SHE’S MINE!” What did the stupid walking database know?!

He can hear Trevor laughing at him. He can see that gross hand touching…

“GET THE FORK OFF MY HUMAN, YOU SON OF A BENCH!”

The train horn blows. The wheels speed up on the tracks.

There’s a sudden terrible ripping sound as muscle tears from muscle, bone snapping from bone, skin shredding loose. Eleanor releases another spine-tingling shriek as her arm rips right from the shoulder. A hose of blood sprays him, coating his glasses. Michael stumbles forward, tripping and falling onto his face, skull knocking against the ground. He looks at the useless limb clutched in his grip, limp and lifeless, and wretches. Just a _thing_. Not Eleanor.

He removes his glasses and glances up as the train disappears around the corner. Eleanor. Disappears.

Eleanor…

“NO!” Michael screams, staggering to his feet, dropping the severed arm on the platform.

No. Oh, no. Eleanor.

Furiously, he wipes his lenses of Eleanor's blood. He puts a hand to his chest as it stings with anger, with guilt, with a thousand other stupid human emotions he doesn’t have time for. They took Eleanor. Again. He promised her she was safe, a thousand times, and he failed to keep to his word. They took his human. His…girlfriend. Ha. Ha ha. His teeth grind together. How dare they? How forking dare they?!

“Janet…Janet, summon a train!” He turns to her, too angry for tears, “I’m going after her.”

Janet stands with her hands clasped in front of her, her expression harder than normal.

“You’ve lost her, Michael. Eleanor’s gone.” She says, flatly. All too accepting of what just occurred.

His fists tremble. He holds himself back from doing something he would regret.

No. He’ll save every drop of his anger, of his fury, for the real Bad Place. He’ll storm through there like a tornado and destroy everything in his path to get to Eleanor. He’ll twist and flatten and eviscerate anyone who dares to lay a finger on her.

“She’s not gone! Not yet! I’m not letting them take her again!” He tells her, heatedly; “Now summon the forking train!”

“I cannot do that.”

Michael grips her arms, his face all too close to hers; “You summon that train, now, or I will marbleize you and crush you into dust! Do not think I wouldn’t! Your only job is to do as I say! That is the ONLY reason you exist! You are MY Janet, do you hear me? MINE!”

There’s no reaction on the mainframe’s face, even with Michael shouting and spitting, his fingers bruising her arms. She looks as blank and robotic as always. Except for the burning glow of her aura. Wait. Janets don’t have auras. What the…?

Then he sees it.

The twitch of a smile. No. A sneer.

Michael gasps, releasing her. He steps back.

“You’re not…” He realises, feeling the ground start to feel far less solid beneath him. This is usually the part of the nightmare where he starts to wake up.

Only, this isn’t a dream. Even nightmares aren’t this cruel.

Janet…or whoever she is…tilts her head.

“She’s not yours, Michael.” She says, disturbingly cold; “Neither am I. That's all you ever saw us as, wasn't it. Your possessions.”

Her form begins to distort. Hair, face, body shifting like static on a TV screen.

Michael stares, frozen with dread like nothing he’s felt before. What the fork is happening? Why is Janet… _Who_ is doing this?!

“All you ever cared about was keeping what you thought belonged to you. Continuing your sick little torture-fest. You had your fun as the puppet master. Now you know how it feels to be on the strings, Pinocchio.”

Dark hair turns to light blond. A shorter woman stands where a taller not-woman had been before.

Michael’s jaw drops. He turns around, seeing that the arm of the woman he loved is no longer on the platform. The splatter of blood on the tracks is gone. It was never even there to begin with. Neither was there a train. Or a Trevor.

Janet. The real Janet. She stands, perfectly poised, where he abandoned the fake arm.

He turns back to the other figure, her true form now solidified. Green eyes frowning with an almost savage glint in them.

“…Eleanor?” He loses his breath; “What the…What are you…?”

"What's wrong, Michael? I thought you enjoyed a good old mind-fork." She taunts him, wickedly.

Eleanor…did _this_? She put this whole charade on, making Michael live out his worst nightmare? She would only want to hurt him like that, rip his heart out, if she…But how?! How the here did she find out?!

She raises her hand, holding a familiar device in her fingers. A handheld recorder.

Eleanor presses the play button.

_“…we all know Eleanor is the key to all this. We need her at the top of her game to make everyone else miserable. I know when the Boss sees the final results, he’ll understand how we can truly renovate the Bad Place.”_

The voice of his past-self haunts him from the speaker.

She presses the fast-forward button. Then play.

_“I have her trust, I think. I can get this to work. Whatever I need to do or say, whatever act I need to put on, to get her out of her shell…So be it.”_

Shirt. Forking shirt.

“No…No, how did you get…?” He points a shaking finger; “I destroyed those!”

“You can thank Janet’s cloud storage for the backups.” She explains, surprisingly restrained, before tossing the device at his head. It bounces off his temple with a sharp sting; “You swore to me. You swore on my soul. You blaster.”

_Bastard._

He’s still reeling from what just happened with the train. With Trevor. What didn’t happen.

It was nothing but a trick. A magic trick. Or, most likely, a Janet trick. That should be the biggest relief of his life. Eleanor is still here. Eleanor is safe.

Eleanor knows the truth.

Eleanor is looking at him, eyes red and watering, full of betrayal. More hurt on her face than a severed limb could ever bring her. It’s the worst torture anyone could inflict on him.

“What are you?” She asks, the calculated coldness on her face now crumbling with devastation. Her voice breaks, sounding so small, like when she first started to find her speech again; “Why did you do this to me?”

What. Not who.

She knows the answer. She knows he’s not her angel. Not a man. A monster. Demon. A creature just as cruel and wicked as the one who held her captive and relentlessly tormented her before. Why? She should know that too. It’s what a demon does. It’s his job. His purpose. It’s all he’s ever known.

No, Michael realises. That’s not what she’s asking him.

Why did he do this…to _her_? How could he?

There had been a time when Michael would know what to say. When he could laugh off her accusations. When he could circle her and taunt her, or try to lie his way out of it again, come up with a distraction. Anything. Something! But she’s weakened him. Months of strange emotions, of pretending to be her angel, living like a human…in love with another human…it’s ruined him.

All he can do is reach out to her. All he wants is to dry her tears.

“Eleanor…Please, listen…” He tries, cradling her face in his palm; “Sweet girl, I am so...so sorry…”

What else is there to say? Sorry is what humans say, isn’t it? It’s what makes it all better…

Eleanor sighs, a small sob on her lips, as she meets his eyes. They shine with the faintest affection. It strengthens what remains of his hope. She loves him. They love each other. They’ve been through so much. This silly, meaningless revelation will not be enough to break them. He won’t let it.

“Oh, Michael…”

She flings herself into his arms. He holds her, tightly, to him, relief pounding in his chest. They can fix this. It will be okay.

She sighs and reaches her hand up to the back of his head, fingers brushing against his hair, craning her lips to whisper in his ear;

“I am not your forking sweet girl.”

A blinding hot pain shoots through his abdomen, along with the sound of flesh being punctured, torn deep. He tries to pull back, caught in the sharp blade that she’s plunged into his torso, impaling him through. He looks down, seeing Eleanor’s whitened knuckles on the hilt, before she rips it out with such ferocity that it nearly bisects him. He gasps, he screams, gurgling up and choking on the same blue fluid that sprays out from his wound.

He falls to his knees, glasses slipping off his head, hands clutching at the opening on his torso. The last thing he sees, before everything goes dark, is Eleanor Shellstrop standing over him, large steak knife in hand, what passes for his human suit ‘blood’ splattered on her hateful glare.

“Happy anniversary, Mi-."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry. ;)


	15. Chapter 15

_28 Hours Ago_

Janet sits beside her in the deck chairs, the two of them looking through a magical tablet screen, sliding through the photos that had been snapped up from the mountain earlier that day. She managed to talk the not-robot into sharing a mojito with her, which obviously she can’t drink, but she likes to hold it to feel included in something.

“I really want this one blown up and put on like a canvas wall in my new place.” Eleanor tells her, focusing on one that had been taken after their picnic.

Michael had conjured two laser guns so they could play a game of shooting cans thrown off the mountain.

“You’re not in this one.” Janet points out. It’s just Michael having a go, clearly missing his target.

“Oh, I know. But he claimed that a bird distracted him and I’d just like it as evidence that there was no bird, he just sucked at shooting without using his powers – and I won.” Eleanor smirks and sips her drink.

Janet smiles; “I’m happy you two had a good time.”

Eleanor feels a small sting of guilt. She tries to treat Janet more like a friend than some virtual servant. It’s rather difficult when she only has a limited time to interact with her. She’s the only ‘real’ being other than Michael she has been able to socialise with since she arrived here.

“We should try to arrange some time to spend together. You deserve to chill out as much as anyone.” Eleanor tells her.

“I don’t really require time to ‘chill’. I don’t get exhausted, nor do I experience intense overheating.”

“No, but c’mon, you gotta get sick of people always wanting you to do things for them all the damn time.”

Janet tries to keep her pleasant, stewardess-esque expression on. But it falters.

“A little. I was very confused when I was still being rebooted and people kept asking things of me and getting annoyed when I didn’t know what they wanted.” She confesses, “The only one who was nice to me, before you, was Jason.”

Eleanor nearly does a spit take on her drink.

“Wait…You know his real name? You know he’s not Juanyu, the silent monk?” She lowers her voice, leaning in. Surely Michael still has no idea.

Janet’s eyes look from side to side. It seems to slowly register that she made a mistake.

“I must do. He did ask me to keep his secret the last time we kissed.”

Eleanor almost chokes on her drink, again. She really needs to not take a sip before Janet reveals something shocking.

“Daaamn! You and Jason? Wow, you get it, girl.” She initiates a high five.

“I’m not a girl. And what did I get?” Janet returns the high-five, regardless.

“Hey, I totally see it. Jason’s a dumb-ash but he’s also a cutie and pretty sweet when he’s not trying to set things on fire.” Eleanor agrees; “And I’ll tell ya, it’s kinda good to know I’m not the only human in this place getting it on with an immortal, magical being. Hey, maybe when we get back to town, the four of us can double date.”

There’s a little shadow cast on Janet’s face when Eleanor makes the suggestion.

“I predict Michael will not be pleased if he finds out Jason and I are a couple.”

“What? Babe, Michael’s cool. He might be a bit surprised that Jason is another mistake, like I was, but I’m pretty sure he’s starting to get how forky this whole points system is. He’ll see Jason is a good guy, at heart if not his brain, and if he makes you happy then all the better.” Eleanor struggles to imagine Michael being mad at Janet over this.

Except Janet has known Michael a lot longer than her. Not so much this Janet, being rebooted, but she was still more knowledgeable about how Michael’s kind and the Good Place worked.

She reaches to pat Janet’s hand in her lap.

“Don’t you worry, hot stuff. If Michael does throw any kind of hissy fit over this, I’ll be sure to find a way to win him round. Kinda got him wrapped around my pinkie at the moment.” She winks, “Anyway, he wants the humans in his neighborhood to be happy more than anything, right? If you being with Jason makes Jason happy then it’s a win win.”

Janet gives a hum and her eyes look out to the sea.

Even though very little emotion passes on the mainframe’s face, Eleanor is able to read that there is more going on in that head of hers.

“…You don’t agree?” She ventures.

Janet looks down at her still full glass; “I find it confusing sometimes that…Michael used to ask me to do things for the neighborhood…and I know they were to entertain or sustain the humans…But often times I notice they end up…not happy. Miserable, really. In my database it says that Architects are fully trained on how to best please humans in their sector.”

Miserable? There were other humans in that neighborhood who weren’t constantly orgasming from every little step? They all seemed to walk around, so high on bliss, satisfied with every nook and cranny of the buildings and houses. Eleanor was convinced she was the only one who had issues and that was because she wasn’t supposed to be there – nothing had been designed for her.

Only. She wasn’t the only one. She had seen Tahani cry multiple times, never feeling as though she was able to fully please everyone as a hostess, especially Michael who kept egging her on to do so. Then there was Chidi’s stomach aches and ethical traumas, which she was mostly to blame for. Possibly all to blame for. And Jason, a loud and proud idiot forced to be silent. Again, mostly because it was a mistake for him to be there at all. Take her and Jason out of the equation and Chidi’s troubles go away. But…that doesn’t quite explain Tahani.

It doesn’t explain why only the four of them out of three hundred and twenty two residents seem to feel…real. Eleanor knows she’s been away for a while now but it was a sense which never quite escaped her.

“Most Architects aren’t supposed to live with humans though. Michael didn’t have a clue about them to start but just tried his best. I can still remember how he messed up those first few days looking after me! He wasn’t used to humans or knew what we needed, how we clicked. I’m sure it will be different, once we get back, after his time with me and him getting to live out the retired beach hunk experience here.”

And Eleanor will be able to help him, properly, this time. She can be his assistant, maybe? She won’t just convince him to take the day off to bum around in the arcade. Not all the time. She’ll be able to correct him when he’s not understanding why what he does makes some humans uncomfortable or anxious. She can help him understand ethics the same way Chidi did for her.

Ah, the student has become the master. She can’t wait to see her nerd buddy again and show how far she’s come, studying on her own.

“I guess they don’t really think about me much now, after all this time. Are Chidi and Real Eleanor-.”

“Michael requested I referred to her as Other Eleanor.” Janet interrupts.

Oh, did he now? She feels a little touched by that. Other Eleanor and His Eleanor. The latter always made her go a bit goopy inside, not that she would ever admit to it.

“Are they together? Are they happy?”

“In the two weeks since I last showed you the snapshot of them, their relationship is still stable and adorable.”

“Wait…” Eleanor frowns, “Two weeks? You showed me that photo months ago!”

“Yes, but due to the different time streams running between this sector and the rest of the neighborhood, time has progressed here at a much faster rate than there. It was Michael’s request, in order to give you as much time here as you wanted.”

Eleanor feels a shudder move up her spine. A whole year has gone by since she came to this house, yet, as far as her friends are aware, she’s only been gone a few weeks? There was something very unsettling about that, on top of everything else. Part of her understood the logic but it also seemed unnecessary. What did it matter if time progressed normally back in town? What would she miss in a year if she wasn’t even supposed to be there?

Or, instead, had it been for Michael’s benefit that he asked for this? Could it be that he didn’t want his presence gone from the town for too long? Again, that made sense on it’s own, except the town didn’t need him to be there. What was one year in infinity? Something wasn’t right.

Why hadn’t he told her?

“Be right back…” She leaves Janet and the photos for a moment.

She has to ask Michael about this. She’s sure there’s a rational explanation.

Eleanor wanders into the house, glancing around for her boyfriend. If he’s not in the kitchen or watching TV then it must mean he’s in his office. The door is closed. He might be working, or preparing for when he needs to go back. She hesitates at the thought of disturbing him.

Oh, fork it.

He’s probably just practicing his guitar again, closing the door to spare her ear drums.

She moves her hand forward to knock. Then her wrist stills. She smells it.

A very faint smell on the other side of the door. A familiar, acrid scent. Different than the air of sulphur and magma that would hang heavily in the Bad Place. Eleanor frowns, moving back, cautiously.

“Hey, babe? Everything okay in there?” She calls, a little worried if he’s somehow set his office on fire or something stupid.

“Yeah, it’s fine! Just getting rid of some junk! I’ll be out to make dinner in a sec. You up for Italian?” He says from the other side.

Eleanor smiles, “Always. Their food is pretty hot too.”

She moves away from the door, wanting for it to be left at that. It’s been such an amazing day. Every day here, from the last eight months in particular, have been incredible. Magical. There was no other word for it. She was excited to see her friends again and start her new afterlife properly, but she would miss her time alone with Michael here, having him all to herself throughout the whole day. It was greedy for her, she knows, but she doesn’t curse herself for thinking it like she once did. She was allowed to enjoy these last two days to the full.

However, when she goes back outside and sits next to Janet, she can’t ignore the sinking sensation in her lower body. She can’t block out the whispers in her head. She wants them to just leave her alone. Let her look at the photos of their gorgeous day together, how happy they are with each other. Let her eat a meal prepared by the one who adores her, who worships the ground she walks on. Let her be free.

Eleanor sighs, heavily; “I know that smell.”

“What smell?” Janet asks.

“The smell coming from Michael’s office.” She explains; “At my old job, my boss used to pay me overtime for burning a load of cassette tapes he’d found from other employees who wore wires in meetings with him, trying to whistle-blow his whole sexual harassment schtick.”

“Yes, he avoided many years in jail thanks to you.”

“All right, I’m not proud of it!” Eleanor waves off, cringing a little; “The point is…that’s the smell of someone trying to hide something. I remember, the night me and Michael first got together, I saw recording equipment in his office…What was he recording that he’s now ashamed of? Do you maybe have copies of what he said on you?”

She knows that is a huge invasion of privacy. It’s not fair on Michael. He’s done nothing but respect her personal space and boundaries since she arrived. Even when she was almost completely paralysed with fear, totally dependent on him, he never touched or washed her in any area too private. He never took advantage of her when she was intoxicated, even though she was well aware he wanted her.

She hates that she can’t just let this go. She needs to know the truth of what is going on and why the Good Place is clearly not worthy of its title, as hard as Michael tries for it to be.

“I cannot restore the physical copies. However, all information is stored in my cloud for emergencies.” Janet tells her.

So, Eleanor could listen to any of them right now. The answers are a simple request away.

She glances down at the tablet, seeing the photo of her sat in Michael’s lap, against the side of the mountain, his arms around her shoulders. It’s a perfect holiday card picture. She’s staring out at the view below them, on that cliff, her eyes looking out in awe while his are purely on her. Completely devoted. Her heart lurches and she feels like shirt.

“Never mind. Forget it.”

“I literally cannot. But I will take that as my cue to go.” Janet puts down the drink she didn’t take a single sip of; “…Thank you for talking with me today, Eleanor. I feel much better.”

She wasn’t even aware Janet could feel anything less than the best. Does Michael know?

Does he care?

“Anytime, babe.”

*

It’s rare that she struggles to get to sleep. As much as Michael’s pet name annoys the crab out of her, she can’t deny that it’s a fair description. She had been starved of rest for so long in the Bad Place that her body never seemed to be able to fully recharge now that she’s out.

She should be exhausted. They had been up at the crack of dawn, made pancakes together for breakfast, driven the longest route they could up to the mountain, spent the day chilling and playing games and having uncomfortable but wild outdoor sex. After dinner, her stomach was stuffed with an incredible lasagne and half a tub of Phish Food ice cream which they ate while watching Moulin Rouge which had managed to make Michael cry at the end (“Oh man, why did she have to die? And she’s French so she’s even more screwed!”). They finished the day off with Michael doing that thing with his tongue which she’s certain is proof he’s definitely not human. Now she’s curled against his chest, his arm securely around her back, Eleanor watching Michael’s face as he sleeps.

Damn it, why can’t this be enough? This should be Paradise. This should be Heaven. It is.

Isn’t it?

Eleanor sighs and leans up on her elbow. She can’t ignore the sirens that have been blaring in her brain since her talk with Janet earlier. No, that’s not true. She’s had doubts for a very long time now. Possibly ever since she was welcomed into Michael’s office. And not just to do with how she had been sent there by mistake. She won’t be able to rest until she has her answers.

She kisses her angel’s cheek, “I love you, bud.”

That much she knows. That much she’s certain of.

There’s a small hum from her heavenly boyfriend but he doesn’t stir. He’s spark out. Much like her, his body must be catching up on aeons worth of missed sleep he didn’t know he needed.

Eleanor slips out from under his arm and pads, noiselessly, into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

She takes a breath. She hates herself for what she’s about to do.

“Janet.”

“Hi there.” Bing, she appears.

“I need to listen to some of those tapes.” Her tongue feels dirty as she says the words. It’s so wrong. It’s like reading a girl’s diary, which she never had as a kid, except for a notebook of expenses her parents owed her.

It was invasion. Violation.

“Please.” She says, grateful that Janet doesn’t have the capacity to judge her. She can do that well enough on her own.

Janet summons a screen with some indecipherable lettering and symbols.

“There is a security question required to gain access.” She informs Eleanor; “Do you know the name of Michael’s childhood pet?”

“Oh, yeah!” Eleanor snaps her fingers, trying to remember. It had been only a few months ago.

He’d asked her if she wanted a pet for the house and she’d told him about her dog, Max, that her mom had more or less left to cook in the back of her car. Michael had sadly told her that there was no way to bring Max in from dog heaven but he could create a constructed replica for her. She’d taken a hard passed at that. She assumed Michael couldn’t understand what having a pet was like until he’d told her about a ‘one-headed dog bunny’ he’d once had. Really odd he felt the need to emphasise the head count.

“Korro….Kara….” Damn, she should really listen to people better; “Oh! Korzoff!”

She manages to guess right on the third and final time, the screen flashing green.

See, now, if he revealed something that personal to her then surely he had basically given her permission to access his private files? Yeah, she could keep telling herself that.

Janet retrieves the files and manifests them into the room as dozens of small cassette tapes, each one marked in order of ‘Day X’. She hands Eleanor a Walkman and some headphones.

“Okay.” Eleanor says, picking up one at random.

She clicks it in the player and presses the button.

It takes five seconds for the color on her face to drain out, her eyes wide with terror.

“Oh God, it’s worse than I thought!” She exclaims, immediately taking her earbuds out.

“What does he say?” asks Janet.

“It’s not what he says, it’s his singing! Oh, man.” Eleanor cringes, pressing fast forward; “Dude has such a great voice but his original lyrics are torture! No wonder he wanted these destroyed.”

She makes a mental note to see if there are any songwriters in the neighborhood that can give him some pointers. And maybe a guitar instructor. Once he nails those, he’s free to rock his adorkable silver heart out.

This was what she had been so afraid of discovering? She feels even worse now.

She’s ready to pull the earphones out and tell Janet to put it all back in her void. She’s ready to go back to bed and snuggle up to her sweet, poetry-challenged Architect for as long as she can.

_“…So that’s how far I’ve got with Sailing On Your Memories. I think it has potential.”_

No. No, it really doesn’t, babe.

_“Tomorrow I really need to start getting back to these torture ideas or my Boss is gonna start to notice I’m phoning in the reports.”_

Eleanor’s hand stills on the player.

Torture ideas?

She swaps out the tape with another, pressing play at random.

_“Maybe I was taking too much on my plate. They told me not to rock the boat, especially on my first assignment! But I had to go coming up with a new idea, didn’t I. I had to be the one who created the Bad Place renaissance!”_

She grabs another tape and tosses the old one out, shoving it in, thumb jabbing the button.

_“I never intended for Eleanor to be the main focus of this experiment. She was such a monster in her own right, I thought I could just leave her to unknowingly torture the others all on her own. I focused more of my personal interactions with Tahani, the most pathetic of the bunch. So needy for paternal validation. So I set her up, knock her down, remind her she will always be a failure. Then I give her that little taste of affection, to keep her crawling back to me for more chances to prove herself. Lather, rinse, repeat. Though sometimes I think the real one being tortured is me having to listen to her boasting and name-dropping!”_

Drop. Grab. Play.

_“According to Vicky, Chidi is still being tortured by Jason as he struggles to teach him ethics, which she as ‘real Eleanor’ encourages. Good to know everything is running smoothly. Meanwhile I’m stuck here struggling to work out how to get a gross, boring human to stop hiding under her duvet, like I’m waiting for forking Groundhog Day. Everyone else is having fun but the Boss, typical.”_

Play.

_“Whatever I need to do or say, whatever act I need to put on, to get her out of her shell…So be it.”_

Holy. Motherforking. Shirtballs.

*

She doesn’t notice that it’s daylight by the time she’s finished going through all the tapes. A few she’s had to go back and re-listen to. Just to make sure she heard correctly. Be certain that this isn’t the biggest of miscommunications. Any last shred of hope she can cling to before what is left of her world falls apart.

Once finished, the Walkman falls from her hand. She leans over the toilet bowl and retches, violently.

That blaster. That motherforking blaster.

Janet kneels beside her and gently tugs her hair back, away from her mouth. Eleanor turns and slaps her cheek. The not-robot doesn’t even blink. She stares back, innocent and confused.

“You…You’re not a part of this, are you?!” Eleanor whispers, immediately taking her hand back.

Janet frowns. Eleanor tells her to listen to all the recordings, which she does in a three seconds.

“…Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh!” Eleanor tells her, seeing the realisation dawn in her eyes; “Janet. This is the Bad Place.”

How had she not seen it before? Stupid Eleanor. Dumb bench.

“But. Michael told me…” Is it possible for a mainframe to look crushed? She almost does.

Eleanor wishes she had enough range in her emotions right now, consumed with her own anger, to feel sorry for her.

“Michael is a liar.” She hisses, her stomach twisting; “He’s done nothing but lie since the moment he got his hands on us! You heard what he said about stealing a Good Place Janet to make this place more convincing. That’s you, babe!” She hadn’t been sure if he had talked Janet into being in on his plan or not; “We’re his prisoners!”

“I see.” Janet nods, “…Well. That’s a bummer.”

Understatement of the forking century.

The next minute, there’s a knock at the door. Michael sounding all concerned as he asks if she’s okay. Eleanor summons all her energy into holding herself back from opening the door and beating the living shirt out of him. She puts on a perky, if somewhat sickly voice, making up a lie about having an upset stomach. Michael may not be a man but he’s close enough of one to be silenced at the mention of women having trouble in the bathroom and needing privacy.

When she does leave, she quickly invents a story about shrimp making her hurl, which also gives her an excuse to stop him putting his filthy, torturing hands on her. Oh, he looks so worried.

Dude deserves an Oscar.

She retreats into her room, once again locking the door just in case. She rushes to grab a bag from the closet and starts stuffing clothes in, as much as she can carry. There’s no way she can stay in this house with that man – that _thing_ – for another second. She has to get back to town. She has to tell the others the truth.

Chidi. Jason. Tahani. Her friends, the only ones who had felt real enough to care about, who cared for her, were in fact the only actual people there after all. Everyone else, all those sickly sweet smiles and condescending looks, were Michael’s minions in disguise. Demons. Just like him.

She stops her packing for a moment to throw herself on the bed. She grabs a pillow and screams into it as loud as she can, muffling herself, her lungs feeling tight as the air struggles to pass through.

That forking blaster. He’d made her believe that he…That she could be…

“Janet.” She says, sitting up, fuming.

“Yes, Eleanor?” She doesn’t sound quite as perky now. Even she’s not beyond being affected by this, clearly.

“Is there anywhere in this place that I can hide from Michael? Somewhere that he can’t get to me or my friends?”

“I predict that if you and the other humans were to disappear, Michael would request that I scan the whole neighborhood for your presence, which I would be unable to deny. Sorry.” She means it, Eleanor can tell.

She shakes her head; “It’s not your fault. You’re programmed to do what he says. I know what that’s like.”

God, she hopes that Michael isn’t twisted enough to force Janet to obey the type of commands Trevor gave her. She would like to hope he was above that. Except, he wasn’t above forking a human under false pretences for months on end. She knew, first hand, there was no limit to how sadistic a demon could be.

“Actually, my primary objective is to make humans happy.” Janet informs her, “In a situation between a human’s command and a Bad Place employee, which I’m now aware Michael is, I must always obey the human first.”

Oh.

Well, that is interesting.

Eleanor puts down her bag. Her rage cools for a moment to let the wheels in her brain begin to spin again as they once did. Janet is right. Running and hiding is not the answer. She's not that scared little girl who Trevor turned her into. Not anymore. She heard that tone of possessiveness from Michael in the tapes. All he cares about is keeping what is his. His humans. His experiment. When he had come to take her out of the ‘real’ Bad Place, that hadn’t been a rescue mission. More like collecting a car from the mechanic.

_“Hopefully Trevor’s treatment will resolve any of these niggling issues with Eleanor. She’ll want to do anything for her own survival now, reverting back to her pure trash state if need be, so long as she can stay in the Good Place. Heh, even Pavlov couldn't have conditioned his hounds any better!”_

She clenches her fist as she recalls Michael’s callous words on those tapes. Chuckling away, so sure of himself. So proud of his and Trevor’s little ploy to crush her down, make her all malleable, like a clay doll to mould and break as they please. Except, as the tapes revealed, Trevor taking her hadn’t been the plan. Michael wasn’t as in control as he thought he was, just made the most out of the situation. He was a tool. A joke. Devil or not, he wasn't worth her fear.

He was beneath her. And she would be sure, if it was the last free thing she got to do in this existence of hers, that he would know it.

“Change of plans.” She tells Janet; “I’m staying. I still need to give Michael his anniversary present. And you’re going to help me, if you want to, that is.”

“Of course! I love giving presents. I don’t like Michael right now though.” She replies, cheerily.

Eleanor smirks, pressing her fingertips together as the idea forms in her head.

“Oh, don’t worry. I very much doubt he’ll like what we give him.” That’s the idea, after all. What else was the Bad Place for?

*  
  


She dresses to the nines. It’s their last date together, after all, the least he can do is leave him with an image of the delicious snack he’s going to miss out on for the rest of eternity. She requests that he wears a bow-tie. It’s easier to hate him in a bow-tie, reminding her more of how he used to look back in town, when he first welcomed her to Hell. The smile he flashed her, once so reassuring, now revealed as a sadist’s smirk. A Cheshire cat’s grin. She always hated that cat.

Phase one of the plan. Drink, because she’s sure gonna need it for tonight. Not too drunk that she loses herself but enough to fire up the old Shellstrop boiler so it can explode and take the house and everyone inside down with her.

The first tequila slammer helps her not to wince whenever he puts a hand on her.

It also makes her steeled resolve wobble. Just for a moment.

Michael stands with her at the bar and starts looking all nervous, those eyes so soft, hands delicately touching her side. It’s enough to make her remember that there is a person she loved who she’s spent a whole year with as well as the despicable voice she heard on the tapes. Which, according to Janet, were months old now. He hadn’t made any new recordings since…well, in the last one, Eleanor was still unable to walk. That felt like a lifetime ago. Why had he stopped?

When he talks to her, when he says how he fell in love with the real her and not the saint she was forced to pretend to be, it tugs at her frazzled heartstrings. Fork, she wants to believe him. Despite everything she’s uncovered, his voice clear as day, there’s a stupid part of her clinging to the possibility that. Maybe. Just possibly. She’s…wrong?

Or, at least, there’s more shades to this than just black and white.

Damn it, she wants to give him a chance. She puts her arms around his neck and looks into those eyes. She sees the one who cared for her every need for weeks on end. She sees the one who encouraged her to walk and talk and think for herself again. She sees the one who made her a giant sand castle, rode unicorns with her across the beach, took her dancing in space, who made her scream with the most incredible orgasms she never thought were possible for a human woman to know. She feels her entire soul being ripped in two at the truth that…this…her Michael…was nothing but one giant act of deceit.

What if it wasn’t? What if it started that way but he really has changed? Is that possible or just a bad Ann Rice fantasy?

She gives him a chance. One last chance, all cards on the table. She delivers the soul mate test.

“You’ll never lie to me, will you. You’ll never betray me. You’ll stand by my side no matter what.”

The same request she had asked of Chidi. Oh, clever, wonderful Chidi. What she wouldn’t give to have him here right now, to help her figure out this mess.

She asks Michael to swear on her soul. Tell the truth.

Please. She doesn’t want to have to do this.

He smiles, that same smile she has trusted and has been the shining beacon in her life for the past twelve months.

“I swear.”

And with those two words, he reveals himself. He tells her exactly what she means to him.

What remains of Eleanor’s heart shatters to pieces. She hides her defeat behind a mask of adoration. Inside she’s screaming, suffering in more agony than any Trevor had put her through. He had abused her, raped her, reprogrammed her until she was nothing but a frightened puppy. But, if nothing else, she had known where they stood in their hatred of each other.

Michael, on the other hand, had given her false hope that she was worthy of love. There was nothing crueller than that.

“Okay.” She responds, quietly, holding back the tears.

Dude just signed the death warrant on their relationship.

Her anger, her rage, reignited again, she takes to the stage. Alone. The song she picks might be too on the nose but the dumbash demon is either too horny or high on his own self-assurance to notice what she’s clearly spelling out to him. The foreshadowing will come to him when it’s all too late. She struts her stuff and shows him all that she’s got, working every inch of her body to impress, flashing those eyes with all the lust she can put on to disguise her betrayal.

When the song is done, when the fake crowd cheers her name, she’s all over him. Angry kisses are the most fun, especially when one doesn’t realise how much of a fool they are. She doesn’t let herself get lost in them. She hooks her legs around his waist and hangs onto him tight, lips smashing against his face, his neck, lulling him into the false belief that she is all his. She is his Eleanor, his toy, to play with and manipulate as he sees fit.

She won’t give him everything. Not tonight. Wind him up good and tight, like a jack in the box, but never enough to let him be free. She’ll stop right before letting him anywhere inside her again. It might not be the most wicked part of her plan, Michael didn’t seem to get himself worked up like normal human guy. He never initiated sex between them, always waiting for Eleanor to take the lead, more interested in pleasing her than her satisfying him – he seemed to feed well enough off the former. Was that what he was? Some sort of succubus? Either way, he’s getting fork all tonight.

He can spend the rest of eternity wanting. Never having. Always pining over how close he came only to lose the one person who gave a fork about him.

He had told her the day before that she wasn’t as good a liar as she used to be.

Oh, Mikey. He clearly doesn’t know her as well as he thinks.

*

It’s only now, with the knife in her hand and Michael bleeding out at her feet, Eleanor starts to think she might have gone too far.

Once she had given into the desire for revenge, it had been in her system like a drug she couldn’t kick. She had spent hours with Janet, in her bedroom, planning out the simulated scenario designed to torture Michael, to give him a taste of his own medicine. He’d claimed that his reoccurring nightmare was losing her to the Bad Place again, like before. That might have been part of the lie but, no doubt, he was keen to keep what he thought belonged to him. Eleanor was curious to see his reaction when his prize human was stolen again.

She even added in one final chance for him to tell the truth, if it meant saving her. Predictably, hurtfully, he had failed the test again. She felt like an idiot for believing there was any hope.

Janet had been a pro. She had made the virtual Trevor and Eleanor play their lines exactly as she had intended. She seemed to have improvised a little with having Michael rip virtual Eleanor’s arm off. That was a nice touch, even if it had made her feel a bit of sympathy pain in her own shoulder, as she watched it all play out from the side, wearing a ‘Janet glamor’ of her own over the black dress she threw back on, so she got to watch Michael suffer up close.

When he’d turned to her, put his hands on her, she had got to see the unfiltered evil in those eyes, she heard him talk to poor 'Janet' as if she was nothing but a slave. She got as close to the real demon as she ever wanted to be.

And, oh, to watch him realize the truth. That had been tastier than a thousand shrimp cocktails.

The stabbing hadn’t been part of the plan. Much like her dear lover preferred, this was only supposed to be psychological torment. She wanted to break him, toy with him, make him feel helpless and confused and defeated – just as he had made her and her friends feel. Judging from the look in his eyes as he had reached out to her, in those final moments, she achieved her goal. Dude was shook. She could have left it at that. She could have walked away, having made her point.

But he had to go and call her that stupid pet name. It had cut deep inside her brain and twisted what remained of her sanity in that moment.

He wasn’t sorry. Not for hurting her. He was only sorry that he got caught.

She would make sure he was sorry.

Her mind had snapped and the knife she had been holding onto, purely for defence in case Michael turned nastier than she expected him to, suddenly found its way into his stomach. It had felt incredible. She could finally understand the appeal of murder, at least as a crime of passion. All that anger and betrayal had been allowed out in the most glorious, brutal way possible. It had filled a hole the mental torture hadn’t quite managed. It was almost as good as sex, ripping Michael apart, gutting him like a fish, his blood splattering on her clothes, her face.

Now he knew the agony she had felt the moment she’d finished listening to those tapes. They were even stevens.

Motherforker.

The psychotic rush had lasted for about five sweet seconds. Then she thought how proud Trevor would be of her.

And it faded. Fork.

Eleanor pants, feeling like she’s run a mile. She looks down at Michael, choking on his fluid, doubling over on the ground into the puddle of his blue demon blood.

“Happy anniversary, Mikey.” She quips, bitterly.

He closes his eyes, passing out and going still before she’s even finished her one liner. Rude.

She keeps watching him. Waiting for what comes next. This was as far as she had wrote out the scene with Janet earlier. The not-robot continues to stand on the other end of the platform, waiting for whatever Eleanor’s next instructions are. She wishes that she knew. Everything is suddenly far too quiet.

Michael doesn’t get up. He doesn’t move. Eleanor frowns. Is he…?

No. He’s immortal. She’s seen him get cut before, it doesn’t affect him, not dangerously. It’s just a suit. The liquid pooling at her feet is not real blood. Is it? She can’t have killed him. Why isn’t he getting up?

Eleanor drops the knife, her hands shaking.

_What have I done?_

“Michael…” She says, flatly, “Michael, get up. Get the fork up!”

A little steak knife is all it takes to bring down a demon? It can’t be.

He looks so pale. Small and defenceless. His eyes are shut but Eleanor has the image of them, before she attacked him, burned onto her vision. He hadn’t been angry with her for the trick. He’d been crushed. Afraid. He’d looked at her, pleading for mercy, as though she was the demon in control of his eternal damnation. He had reached out to her. He’d wanted…

No. He just wanted to keep up the lie.

He deserved this. He deserved to suffer. He had taken her in to torture her all because of some forked up points system. He had tortured her friends. He had let the Bad Place come and take her away, let her be beaten and raped for who knows how long, only waiting until it was convenient to come and take her back. Everything he had done, every word spoken, every act of comfort, every gift or token of affection, every kiss…had been nothing but an act to win her over. To claim her as his own. He was a monster.

And yet. Fork. And yet…

He had been _her_ monster.

She kneels down, putting a quivering hand to his pale head.

“Michael…?”

Her fingers brush against his white hair. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She’d wanted him to be hurt. She didn’t want him to…

His eyes open wide, his whole body convulsing, a rough boiling sound erupting from his middle.

Eleanor squeaks and stumbles back, trembling, watching the blood from his gaping wound continue to splurt out, as if not quite finished. Michael continues to choke some more, rolling onto his front, his hand trying in vain to cover the hole in his stomach.

And then he laughs. It’s not his usual laugh. No delight. No warm fun. This laugh is cold. Devious.

The giggle of a mad man. A broken man.

She then hears the same voice from the tapes.

“Are…you…kidding me?!” He looks up, baring his teeth. He'd be showing his fangs if he'd had any. His eyes are like nothing she’s seen on Michael’s face before, “Oh…Eleanor Shellstrop…You s-sneaky little…ARGH!”

He struggles up, onto his knees, both arms now clutching at himself. Eleanor sees his skin start to react all over. Small lumps swelling up and then fading away on his arms, his chest, as if he was having the mother of all allergic reactions. He keeps pressing hard on his stomach, his shoulders heaving, his jaw set as he struggles to…She’s not sure what he’s trying to do.

“What the fork is happening?” Eleanor asks.

Michael shakes his head, sweat on his forehead; “….D-dumb little human…You have no idea what you…”

Something then launches out of Michael’s stomach, shoving his hand aside. It thrashes out, blue and wild, dripping with something foul and reeking terribly. At first, Eleanor mistakes it for a snake, watching as it slithers out from behind Michael’s fingers and whips itself at the ground. Then she sees the suckers. Oh, gross, gross, gross. She tries to step back but it lashes angrily at her feet.

The juice coating it drips onto her bare knees. It’s scalding hot, making her yelp. Just a drop but enough to burn like shirt.

“No!” She hears him cry out.

Michael gasps and grabs at the thing, the huge tentacle, trying to stuff it back inside of him. But then he’s having to fight against more of them.

“Run…”

Eleanor stares at him, seeing the crazy glint that had been in his eyes fade away into something else. Something much more…Michael-y.

Panic.

“Eleanor, run. G-get away from me…now…” He tells her, looking up at her with fear and grief, wheezing painfully; “I said RUN!”

She doesn’t need it shouted at her again.

She turns, ignoring the minor burn on her leg, desperate to get away. She has no idea where she’s supposed to go. She can’t summon a train, not with Michael looking like he’s about to give birth to some acidic Kraken on the tracks. She can’t run back to town, she doesn’t know the way. All she can do is run as far as possible. No matter which direction she takes, she’s more lost now than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork credited to Star-Pepper (https://star-pepper.tumblr.com/post/620824367138537472/show-chapter-archive)
> 
> My song inspiration for this chapter in particular: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JPOtSknsdXs


	16. Chapter 16

Shirt! Shirt! Forking shirtballs! Shirt!

Michael throws himself on the ground, arms wrapped tight around his body, wrestling against the creature – _himself_ – struggling to stay inside the damaged suit. He bites down on his lip, having never felt so much physical pain since he first tried the damn thing on over five hundred Bearimys ago. He’d been attacked before by feisty humans. Kicked, punched, even shot a few times. This was something else. No human had ever been this close to do this much damage.

Damn Shellstrops! Why did everyone elses father teach their daughter how to ride a bike but Eleanor’s dad had to teach her how to shank someone?!

“Janet…” He begs, starting to get afraid now. The stupid things won’t stay in!

If the suit gets destroyed, if he no longer has his human body…

“Janet, please. Help me!”

She kneels down before him. There’s a moment where he fears that she will sneer at him again. That she will refuse him help and mock him for his failure. Put all the Bad Janets to shame.

He looks up at her, seeing her holding some scotch tape.

“Move your hands away.” She tells him.

Of course. She’s the real Janet. Not his vengeance seeking girlfriend disguised as a Janet. She doesn’t hold grudges, he thinks. He’s not really sure about anything at the moment.

But he trusts her. He does as he’s told.

A couple of tentacles try to fly out at her but she pushes them back with no trouble at all, holding them inside the wound. She then bites off a long strip of the tape with her teeth and puts it over the wound. He hisses, wincing, the ‘flesh’ of the skin suit surprisingly tender. A tear of pain leaks from his eye. For the first time in his existence, he knows what every human he’s ever stabbed or sliced has felt.

Oh, shirt. What had he done?!

“Hold still, Michael.” Janet tells him, firmly.

He tries to do so, laying on his back. He can feel the slimy, wriggling creature inside of him start to settle, unable to fight against the magic tape for too long as it quickly starts to repair the skin, covering it over and dissolving. He catches his breath, looking down at his stomach. There’s a rather deep, red scar above his abdomen, but otherwise it’s healed. Hey, presto.

Janet sits back on her heels.

“I thought you might wanna keep that.” She tells him as he runs a finger over the mark.

Michael nods; “Yeah. I always wanted a cool scar. Just never imagined this was how I would get one.”

He’d also always wanted one on the face. Just a little one, not too scary. Maybe he should ask Eleanor if she feels like stabbing him again but to aim for the head this time.

But this one will also serve as a reminder to him. Never underestimate Eleanor Shellstrop.

And a bunch of other lessons he’s learned.

He looks up to see Janet meet his gaze, silent and solemn. He feels that twinge in his chest again. It might be the first time he’s ever looked at her and seen something more than a celestial mainframe. He sees a…being. A thinking agent. He doesn’t know what to say.

Janet smiles, that obligatory smile, and stands up.

“If that will be all you need of me…” she says, a little dejected.

Michael grabs her hand.

“Wait!” He stops her, fingers linking around hers, his thumb smoothing over the back of her hand; “…Please.”

He climbs to his feet, one hand still on his stomach, which continues to pang with a sharp ache as he moves. He assumes she left the pain in there, for a time, as an extra reminder. She knows exactly what he deserves right now.

Michael looks at her, squeezing her hand; “…I’m sorry.”

“What for, Michael?”

“The things I said to you…when I thought Eleanor was you…” He had never knew he was capable of so much spite. Evil, yes, but usually restrained and polite. He had never been…vicious; “I was just angry. I thought I’d lost…I mean, I guess I have lost, but…I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You’re more than just my Janet, Janet. You’re…important, to me. You were my first ever…f-friend.”

He glances at her hand, remembering when she had handed him that spoon for his first taste of froyo. It was still in his office, back in town, kept safe in its container.

Janet pats her hand on his.

“Jason and I are together.”

Michael blinks at her, knocked for six.

“I…What…When did…How…” He shakes his head, holding his palms up; “You know what, this really isn’t the time and…Sure, whatever works for you both right now, it doesn’t bother me!”

It really should. A Janet in love with a human? A dirtbag like Jason, to boot?!

Well. Micheal was one to talk.

Still…JASON?!

No, this really isn’t the time. He can worry about that later, if it’s even worth being concerned about.

He takes a step and spots the blue-coated steak knife on the ground. He huffs to himself. Eleanor was smart enough to grab something to defend herself but not clever enough to keep it on her. He picks it up and slides it into the pocket of his jeans.

Now that his concern for his human suit staying whole has passed, he remembers why he it was at risk in the first place. Eleanor. With the knife. On the train platform.

Worst game of Clue ever.

“Is she safe?” He asks Janet.

“For the most part. You only burned her a little.”

Oh, he did a lot more than that.

As soon as he saw the tentacle…his tentacle…come close to touching her, any anger he’d felt about her little trick was replaced by fear that she was about to meet the same excruciating fate as the first human his true form had ever come into contact with. Fork, no.

Eleanor…

He doesn’t ask Janet to tell him where she is. He’s pretty sure he already knows where she’s gone. Back to where everything fell apart for her the last time she was here.

*

Eleanor slips her heels off, impressed she had managed to run in them this far. Had she known she would be running for her safety, she would have gone with flats. It wouldn’t have had quite the same effect with the dress. Details were key. Her ex would surely agree.

She walks slowly into the tide, roughly coming in, rolling and crashing with medium sized waves collapsing on the shore. She soaks her burn in the water. It doesn’t wince as much as she expects and she remembers that there’s no salt in the damn thing. Was that supposed to be good for it? Did did it even matter in this place? She could ask Janet to heal it for her but…

_Her barely used foot twists before it reaches the second step. She falls forward, hand failing to grab the rail she should have been holding on to before attempting this._

_After a few bumps and knocks, Eleanor lands in a heap on the stone path leading down from the patio steps._

_Her knee is on fire. Layers of skin scraped away._

_Blood trickles down onto her ankle. Drip. Drip._

_“Mmm-Micha’! Micha’!” She tries to cry out, her voice still very weak._

_She had only taken a few steps in the water the day before. Did she think she could go from that to taking stairs on her own?_

_God, she’s pathetic. Helpless little nothing._

_Tears fall unabashed from her eyelids as she clutches at her leg. This is her fault. Stupid, clumsy bench. She wasn’t ready. She will never be ready. Better to carry on crawling like the whore she is._

_There’s a hand on her back, barely three seconds after she called for him._

_“Hey, sweet girl. It’s okay.” Michael helps her sit up on the step; “I’ve got ya. Let’s have look, shall we.”_

_He carefully handles her leg. He snaps his fingers and the graze heels instantly, the neat line of blood fading away._

_Her pain is gone but she still feels like shirt. Hopeless shirt._

_His fingers stroke her tears away and he sits with her, his arm around her shoulder, his hand with hers in her lap. She knows he will stay until she stops shaking._

_“What else can I do to help? Want me to take points away from the stairs? Send them to the Bad Place?” He jokes, rather poorly, but it’s enough to make her smile, shy as it is._

_She can always count on Michael for that._

_“Let’s try again, shall we. I know you can master this. Take my hand this time...”_

Eleanor grits her teeth, her knee aching more from the memory. When she was four and hurt her arm falling off a tree, her mom had told her to suck it up and stop crying before someone called child services on her. When she was seven and scrapped her knee outside the Dairy Queen, her dad had told her to cry more so they could sue the joint. Both times had taught Eleanor that it wasn’t worth getting upset and waiting for someone else to pick you up and kiss your wounds away. Just dust yourself off and get on with it.

Then she had come here. Well, not _here_ here. The original beach house she had spent that one Summer in LA. When she had cut her leg pretty deep, climbing some rocks, her foster mom had found her cleaning out the wound with her husband’s vodka and stitching herself up with a needle and thread. When she’d tried to help, Eleanor had swore at her to let her get on with it. That she could handle herself. The woman had looked horrified as the eleven-year-old girl barely winced as she strung her torn flesh back together. But she had offered to help bandage it…and Eleanor couldn’t resist experiencing something close to maternal care. Her foster dad had later seen it and called her his little badash.

And then they had broke her heart and threw her away as soon as they got the chance of a ‘real’ family. That was how much their damn concern meant in the end. Ash-holes.

 _“Do you remember my version of TLC, babe?”_ A dark voice hisses in the back of her brain.

Eleanor feels the air drop to sub zero around her. She regrets only wearing a black dress for dramatic effect. It’s way too cold out here this time of night.

How could she ever forget?

_“Stand up, skank.”_

_No. She can’t._

_“I said. STAND!”_

_A whip lashes her across the back. Fuck!_

_How is she supposed to stand? Her legs are broken, the fucking bones splintering outside the skin! It’s impossible…_

_Trevor grabs her by the hair._

_“Stand up…or I cut your head off and fuck it like a one-finger bowling ball!”_

Eleanor screams aloud. She can feel the blinding pain going up her legs from the memory alone. It’s the most vivid flashback she’s had in months. She had almost forgotten just how intense they could be. She had hoped her time in Hell was over.

That was just it. She had never even left in the first place.

She opens her eyes and sees him, standing there, ignoring the waves crashing against his feet. His clothes don’t even get wet. Those dark eyes leer at her with that sideways smirk. Eleanor tries to stand her ground.

“You’re not really here.” She tells him, clenching her teeth.

_“Oh I’m always here, baby doll. Promised you, didn’t I? I said I would get you back. How’s about you call yourself a train and get your pretty ash back to me already.”_

She shakes her head. She’s come so far now. She won’t let Michael or Trevor or any demon break her back down again, make her feel as though she deserves to suffer, to burn.

_“If you hurry now, we can watch the Bachelor together, while I’m plugging up that vag of yours with my meat. I know how much it’s missed me. Or has Mikey been keeping it nice and warm?”_

She can’t help but squirm at the thought. The tide starts to come in faster, almost up to her knees. She won’t run. Not from him.

Drip. Drip. Damn it.

Her memories of Trevor’s assaults and Michael’s lovemaking collide to form a confusing, searing hot mess in her head.

“No…That wasn’t…”

_“What? Wasn’t what I did? He lied to you, sweet cheeks. Got into your head, made you all sweet for him, made you his willing little sex toy! Sure, you might have enjoyed it, but don’t that just go to prove my point of what you are? Trashy. Arizona. Whore.”_

“FORK YOU!”

Trevor moves in close, the ocean roaring around them; _“Bet you wish you hadn’t dropped that knife, huh? It felt good, didn’t it, twisting that blade into your fake angel’s guts! Nothin’ like a good stabbing, am I right? It’s like sex but to the death. Ha. You really do belong with us, don’t ya?”_

Yes. She enjoyed it. Just for a few seconds, it had given her some catharsis, some release. It wasn’t worth the sinking, crawling shame that had followed.

“I am nothing like you…Leave me alone…”

_“Time for you to choose, Shell-Slut. His Bad Place…or mine.”_

“LEAVE ME ALONE!”

“Eleanor!”

There’s a hand on her wrist. His voice snaps her out of her own head, finally noticing the water is up past her knees, waves continuing to lap heavily against her, the current threatening to drag her out. Trevor dissolves.

She turns around. Michael. He’s there, holding her arm, trying to gently coax her back to dry land.

“I’ve got you. C’mere.”

She wrenches her arm from him and stomps out of the water on her own, keeping her distance. Now she really does wish she still had her knife. His skin suit might be all patched up, blue goo and tentacles gone, but that wasn’t what Eleanor was really running from.

Michael holds his palms up as she skirts around and edges closer to the pier, backing herself against one of the wooden pillars.

“Thought I’d find you here.” He says.

She shrugs, keeping herself back; “This is where it ended the last time.”

When the social workers had come to drag her away, she had clung to that very same pillar. She examines it, wondering why Michael didn’t leave the scratch marks in, to make it more effective. She knows why he chose that memory to base this place off of now. The last time she was built up to believe she was loved only to have it pulled out from under her.

“You weren’t quite as violent saying goodbye to them.” He comments.

“They only had me for two months. If they loved me for a year before it was over, I might have gutted them as well, instead of just a spit in the face.” Eleanor remarks back.

It feels so strange, yet also so easy, to slip back into talking to Michael like this. Maybe they’re both too tired for anymore theatrics.

“Good idea, this.” She praises him, looking up at the beach house; “Couldn’t have picked a more fitting design, really. You sure did you homework, dude.”

Michael nods. He doesn’t deny it.

“The plan was to bring up what happened more often, how they didn’t want you. How close you came to having people who cared about you only to lose them.” He confesses, a bit too easily than she would have liked.

She should have seen it all before. The signs were right there, she was just afraid to read into them. She didn’t want to wake up from her dream, her fairy tale, where a handsome angel rescues her from Hell and falls in love with her and only wants to make her happy. Her brain really had gone soft, whether from Trevor’s torture or Michael’s, she’s not sure. She’s not the woman she used to be and she’s not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.

Except. Michael had never brought her foster parents up, except for that one time. She shuffles her feet on the ground.

“Turns out there was a better way for you to bring those feelings back, huh?” She throws at him.

His brow creases. He doesn’t seem to get what she means. Oh, come on. The least he can do now is be straight with her.

“Speaking of mind games, that stunt you pulled up there on the train station?” Michael brings up, “That was impressive. I mean, how long did you plan all that out? You had me fooled for-.”

“A day.”

His face falls; “That’s it?”

She nods, “Only found the tapes after you burned them. Honestly, you kinda led me down the path with that. I might not have ever known if you’d just, I dunno, put them in Janet’s void or something.”

He smiles and then nods, cursing himself; “Right…Yeah, in hindsight, that would’ve been a better idea.”

Eleanor wants to smile with him. She wants it to be like it was, pretend that nothing has changed and they can just go back to what they were the night before. Together. Happy.

“Seriously, a day?” He remarks again, pleasantly stunned; “That was some quick thinking! And if it makes you feel better, it really got me going! I mean, if I had a heart, it would’ve been ripped out right there!”

It does make her feel strangely proud of herself. And then she feels dirty again for having enjoyed it so much. It didn’t feel right, condemning Michael for torturing humans by forking with their heads, only to turn around and do it herself. It didn’t matter if he deserved it…That was the same thing which Michael had been told about them. It justified nothing.

She looks at his torso, spotting the tear in his nightshirt, her fist clenching at the newly stitched up scar exposed underneath.

He follows her gaze and shakes his head, chuckling a little; “The knife was a little OTT. I mean I can’t believe you thought that would kill me.”

“I didn’t wanna kill you, idiot!” She snaps at him, “I just wanted to hurt you! More than I’ve ever hurt anyone.”

“Well, mission accomplished. You also did something incredibly stupid that could’ve done way more damage to you than me!”

Eleanor groans, rolling her eyes. It wasn’t as though she had expected Michael’s demon insides to be some sort of Japanese monster porn-star. Truthfully, in the brief moment she had imagined his true form, she pictured a rugged beast-man with horns and a goatee. Classic, sexy Satan.

“Sorry to disappoint you.” She snarks at him, “There’s a lot of that going around.”

She glances down at her leg, which still stings a little. Michael takes a step towards her.

Eleanor backs away; “Seriously. Dude. Do not even.”

“Just let me fix it? Please?” He holds up his hand, ready to snap.

“No!” She denies him, “I do not want that from you right now, okay? I can deal.”

He lets his hand fall to his side.

“Okay. What do you want from me then?” He asks, openly.

This wasn’t how Eleanor expected him to be once it was all over. She was ready for him to drop the mask, reveal his true face, talk in that voice she had heard in the tapes. And he had, only briefly, before that putrid abomination had tried to escape his stomach like a C-section from a horror film.

She hadn’t expected him to be so…calm. So Michael.

“Just tell me the truth.” Eleanor tells him.

“You listened to the tapes, you know the truth.” Michael shows his hands; “I’m a monster, right?”

She scoffs; “Don’t flatter yourself, man. Monsters are cool. That’s not all you are. You’re a liar.”

“Well, takes one to know one!” He says, surprisingly petulant.

“Wow! Third grade called, they want their trash talk back!”

Michael frowns; “You’re really going to give me a hard time about lying when you were happy to lie to me about who you were for three months?!”

“Is it a lie if the person you’re lying to knows it’s a lie?!” Eleanor challenges and then hears Chidi’s answer in her head; “Okay, yeah, I know it is! But I had to lie! It wasn’t to torture anybody; it was to save myself from eternal misery!”

“Exactly!”

Eleanor is stumped by that. She holds up her hands in a ‘what the fork’ gesture. Even Michael seems kinda lost, as if the point he was trying to make got away from him.

“What are we talking about here?” She asks him, rhetorically; “All I want is for you to admit that this, whatever this _thing_ was between us, was part of your big diabolical plan! That it wasn’t real! Say it!”

He looks at her, confused, his mouth open.

“…I can’t.”

“Why the fork not?!” She knows everything now, might as well remove every piece of the damn costume he had to wear this whole time.

Michael blinks; “Because you made me swear never to lie to you.”

Eleanor’s chest feels like it’s been punched. She laughs, ironically, running her hand over her face. Does he honestly expect her to keep falling for this? She at least hoped that he had a little respect for her, after all this time.

“You listened to the tapes, right?” Michael says, “All of them? Was there any mention of me planning to fake a relationship with you?”

“You said you were prepared to do anything, say anything, to get me to trust you!” She wishes she still had the recording on her, as fun as it had been to throw it at the demon’s head; “That you were willing to put on any act!”

“Yes! Act as a carer! A friend, maybe, but I was never supposed to…” He cuts himself off.

“Never supposed to what?” She dares, taking a step forward.

Michael opens his mouth to speak. Then closes it, deciding against whatever he was about to say. He laughs, again, not quite as malicious as his laugh on the platform but it still makes Eleanor’s blood run cold.

“This is all your fault, you know that?” He sneers at her, “You ruined everything! I was so close to pulling this off, to getting my big break, but you had to go and mess it all up! First you distract me for a whole day by dragging me around that stupid arcade! Then you actually listen to Chidi’s ethical lessons and do the right thing by turning yourself in! Then you do the stupid thing and actually let the Bad Place take you away-.”

“Wait! You didn’t think I would even get on the train?!” Eleanor doesn’t recall that part being mentioned on the tapes.

“No, dingus! Did you even listen to my recordings?!” Michael complains; “The only reason I called Trevor there was to scare the shirt outta you! You were then supposed to run and hide or something, maybe his guys try and drag you on the train and I stop it – they were never supposed to take you! You were never supposed to get hurt, not like _that_!”

Eleanor feels shaken a little at that. She has no idea if she can believe what Michael is saying. Should it even matter? Either way, they took her. And he had to drag his feet to ‘rescue’ her.

“And if all that wasn’t bad enough, you then put me in a position where I’m supposed to…look after you! And then I start taking in all those ethical lessons of yours, ugh, it was like catching the Chidi virus! You said it yourself right, that propinquity nonsense?! I had to keep spending time with you, doing everything to keep you happy, where else was it gonna lead?” Michael laughs again, defeated; “I should’ve just left you with Chidi! I should have just taken you back months ago when you could walk again!...I should have stopped it.”

She remembers that night, after he had taken her away from Trevor. He had tried to drop her off in town. Hand her back to her friends, for them to deal with. She wishes she could turn the clock back. She could have spared herself a truck load of heartbreak. She would have preferred dealing with her friends' judgement of what she had become over what Michael has done to her.

“Why didn’t you?” She asks him.

“You didn’t wanna go back.”

That isn’t what she’s asking. Eleanor steps closer to him.

“Michael. Why didn’t you stop it?”

He looks at her, his eyes a little tired from his outburst, or maybe the fact that he had been stabbed less than half an hour ago and is still recovering. Hard to say. She used to think he was so easy to read, that she understood him better than any human had known an immortal being. She was dumb enough to think she was special.

Michael reaches out for her. His voice softens.

“Because I love you.”

Eleanor cringes; “Oh, god…”

“Thirteen billion years of existence. You’re the first person I’ve ever loved.” He continues, dropping his hand, “Well done.” He doesn’t say it in earnest. It’s the words of a loser accepting defeat with as much grace as he muster.

Any other time before this, that might have sounded incredibly romantic. Now it only serves to make Eleanor feel contaminated.

“You could have told me the truth. Any time. Yeah, I would’ve been pissed, but I would have been able to handle it!”

“When was the right time?” Michael asks, getting heated again; “When you could barely look me in the eye? When you cried at every sudden, loud noise? First time we had sex? What moment should I have gone with, Eleanor? ‘Oh by the way, I’m actually a demon who was supposed to torture you’, when would that have sounded good?! I was going to tell you when we got back!”

“Oh, everyone always says that before they get caught!” She fires back.

She knows better than anyone, claiming the truth was on your tongue the whole time is the classic Shellstrop response.

“It’s the truth! I just wanted you to enjoy it here as much as you could before…”

Eleanor throws him a glare; “What? Before I have to go back to enjoy more of the oh-so-fun torture games?”

“No. It’s different now.” Michael comes closer; “You know what's going on. I can protect you. I can’t stop the other demons torturing you, but it won’t be like Trevor! It’ll just be little annoying pranks they come up with. And you’ll know about it before hand so you can prepare for it. I promised you, Eleanor, I would never let anyone hurt you again.”

But someone did. The demon in front of her did.

“And my friends?” She asks, “What about them? I heard the shirt you said about Tahani, man. That was sick!”

Sure, Tahani could be a stuck-up pain in the ash. But she didn’t deserve to be mentally abused like that, not after all the shirt she had to go through with her folks.

Michael winces; “Fine. You can…tell your friends, if you want.”

“And you honestly think we’re just gonna sit back and stay quiet in your little zoo because we’re suddenly aware of it?” Eleanor shoots back; “They’re gonna feel exactly the same as I do right now when I tell them! They’re gonna know the sick, twisted mind forks you like to play and, just like me, they won’t trust your gross, demon ash as far as they can throw you!”

The vile, hateful words feel enjoyably sour on her tongue as they leave her mouth.

Something shifts in Michael’s expressions when she’s finished laying into him. He tilts his head a bit, as if studying her. Sizing her up. Eleanor steels herself for whatever he’s planning.

“Mind games? You think that’s the worst I’ve done?” He says, coldly; “All that screaming you told me you heard in the Bad Place? You know the sort of things those demons were doing to them. You don’t think I did stuff like that? Hmm? What the here do you think I was doing for the thousands of years before I became an Architect’s apprentice, Eleanor?”

He moves in close and she steps back to find the pillar of the pier against her back. She’s pinned between the two as Michael gets more up front than she’s comfortable with, towering over her.

“I’ve pulled fingernails, broken toes, smashed penises, set people on fire,” He says, his voice too low, too quiet; “I’ve reached down a human’s throat to their ash and pulled them inside out. I’ve beaten women smaller than you like pinatas and tasted their insides. I’ve dunked people in pits of lava and forced them to eat spiders. I might not be a pervert like Trevor but there is no limit to the other types of awful things I’ve done. I made humans suffer in agony for thousands of years…all the while, whistling while I worked!”

Every word is a dagger in Eleanor’s chest. She can’t fight back the tears as she tries her best not to imagine the man she thought she loved doing those terrible things. Enjoying them. It made her want to die all over again.

“Why are you telling me this?” She asks in a small voice.

Is it just more torture? Humiliate her by making her realise what sort of creature she fell for?

Michael’s lip trembles; “…Because I never used to care. I never had to think about it before. I never had to _feel_ …” He balks a little, “You did that to me, Eleanor. It’s always you…”

He looks down. Broken. Eleanor recognises that expression from the time she discovered him in the office. The night they first…Her hand itches at her side. She wants to reach up to touch him again. She wants to hold him, kiss him, tell him it’s gonna be okay. She wants nothing more than to reassure him that it’s not his fault. That she knows his heart. That she loves him.

She would do so, if she was certain any of that was still true.

Michael sniffs and looks at her. He tries to hold her hand. Eleanor is too exhausted to pull away.

He cradles the side of her face in his other hand. His touch is so warm, usually so comforting. Not tonight, not when she’s fired up enough as it is.

“We could still go away. Leave together. Find somewhere, anywhere. All I want, all I care about now, is you.” He whispers to her.

“Michael.” Don’t do this to her. No more, please.

For a second, it looks as though he’s moving in to kiss her. He then holds himself back when his eyes meet hers, and she silently makes it clear that there’s no way she will reciprocate. Not this time. Maybe not ever again. She already gave him their last kiss, he just wasn’t aware of it.

That was his own fault....

Fork, she hates how painful this is, holding it together. She wants to crumble into his arms. She wants to give in.

“I love you.” Michael says again, “I was never supposed to fall in love with you. But I did. That was never a lie. Please. Believe me.” He begs her, curling his fingers around hers.

She wishes it were that simple.

“You made me think you were someone else, dude. I don’t know who you are now.” How can she love someone she isn’t even sure is real?

Michael tries his best to smile, tears on his cheeks.

“I don’t even know that for sure anymore. I’m not your angel, Eleanor, I never was. No more than you were my sweet girl. We’re just a trash bag and her immortal idiot. We both knew this. We always knew who we really were.”

Yes. They did. It had just been a fun little game, sly teasing between two idiots, not a grand scale deception. At least, that had been the case as far as Eleanor was concerned. This was something else. Too much.

“I never wanted an angel. I just want…Michael. My Michael.”

He shudders, “I’m right here.”

Eleanor shakes her head. She removes his fingers from around her hand and moves away.

“No. You can’t be. Because that Michael never existed. He was just a simulation.” She shrugs, walking backwards, away from him, “But it’s time I took my brain outta the vat…Janet.”

“Hi.” The mainframe bings into the space beside her.

She turns her back on the demon.

“Take me home. Back to my friends.” She reaches for her hand, “Please.”

Janet obliges her, looking over for a second at Michael, before walking with Eleanor up the beach, towards the train station. She doesn’t look back. Not at him.

She does take one last look at the beach house. The house of broken promises and shattered dreams.

Never again, she thinks to herself, feeling the ache from the small burn still on her knee as she walks. She’s done nothing but live in a dream all year, after being trapped in a nightmare. It was time to get back to the real world she was trapped in now. It was time to wake up.

*

He watches her go. He doesn’t try to stop her. She was always free to leave.

It was inevitable, really.

Michael doesn’t get on the train with her. He knows that she’ll want to travel alone. He’ll wait a while, letting Janet repair the time streams, before he gets his own ride back to town.

When she’s faded from his sight with Janet, he drags his feet slowly back up to the house.

It suddenly feels so…quiet. Empty. Strange, as it had only ever been the two of them there all that time, they had managed to fill it with so much life. So much laughter. All the walls, the furniture, the kitchen, it means nothing to him now.

He resists the urge to do his own silent tour, brooding over every little spot where they shared their time together, gathered their memories. What was the point anymore?

She hadn’t gone inside for any belongings. There was nothing worth saving for her.

He goes back out to the patio and turns one of the deck chairs to face the house before taking a seat. He sits back, letting out a long held-in breath, still strangely numb from what just occurred. He’s waiting to be hit by a sandbag full of grief. He’s waiting for the rage and distress that is supposed to come from breaking up with your girlfriend.

It is over, right? That’s what happened? He’s still new to this. It seemed pretty clear cut.

Michael raises his hand. He takes a brief moment to use his heightened imagination, picturing himself and Eleanor in the kitchen before him, past the patio doors. He sees her beside him, helping him make breakfast, laughing as she stirs the pancake batter too hard and it splashes onto his shirt, which he then flicks some at her, grinning as it lands on her nose and she passes it onto his with a sneaky kiss.

He snaps his fingers. The entire house erupts into flames. He barely feels the intense heat as he sits, three metres away, watching everything he tried so hard to cling to burn to the ground.

Ah. Now, it’s over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Illustration by the wonderful Star-Pepper (star-pepper.tumblr.com)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, the weather has cooled down so I can write again!

She had expected to fall asleep on the train. It only hit her, when she took her seat, that she’d been awake for nearly forty-eight hours. A boiler full of emotions was pumping her with more than enough adrenaline. Anxiety about returning to a neighborhood full of demons paid to torture her, worry about seeing her friends after so long, and a bunch more all centred around Michael. Mostly anger.

Don’t think about him, Eleanor, she tells herself as she watches the little world he created roll by. He’s occupied way more time in her thoughts over the past year than he ever deserved.

She tries to think about her friends. What is she going to say to them? They have to know the truth. She’ll tell them everything she heard on the tapes. What if they don’t trust her? ‘Real Eleanor’, or rather Vicky the demon bench, has probably been filling their heads with all sorts, manipulating them to trust her. She would have been briefed on all their personalities, learned all the best ways to win them over where Eleanor only got on their nerves. Her chest tightens at the thought that the first thing they do when they see her is ask why she’s not in the Bad Place where she belongs.

Why, indeed, a niggling part of her fractured brain still finds herself asking.

She closes her eyes, just for a second, finding that voice that has comforted her whenever she’s been plagued by that doubt, by that fear of not belonging.

_“I don’t care if some stupid points system says you don’t belong in the Good Place. This is my neighborhood. I say you belong here.”_

Eleanor smothers a laugh for herself. He was giving her the answer all along. Yes, she did belong in the Bad Place. The resident Devil confirmed it. The words that had once been so reassuring now felt like poison in her ears.

She looks over to the end of the carriage, seeing the conductor stood at the engine visible through the open door. Eleanor opens her mouth, about to ask Janet if she thinks she did the right thing. Was she right not to trust Michael? Demon creep had lied about everything else, what good reason was there to believe he really had fallen in love with her?

The answer she predicts the not-robot will give is already echoing in her head.

Unclear.

When the train finally rolls into that familiar street, the Frozen Yoghurt signs peeking into view above the perfectly paved streets, the anxiety begins to rise again. This was the part before, a year ago, where she had faltered. The part where she had screamed and cowered and gestured that she would rather be sent back to the hellfire she had grown accustomed to rather than face her friends in the state she was in. It baffles her now to think she was once so far gone. If she were Michael in that situation, she would have slapped her pathetic self and thrown her off the train. Weird to think how the demon chose the ‘softer’ approach.

This time, she rises to her feet. Her knee has been heeled. When she looks down at it, she still has images of that gross, scalding tentacle whipping close to her skin, splattering her with its fluids. That was what she needed to remember whenever she got the slightest itch for her ex-boyfriend. That’s what she had been forking all those months. Way to go there, Eleanor. That is a new low.

She asks Janet for a change of clothes. Walking through town in the early morning wearing a black dress and heels spoke ‘walk of shame’. She didn’t need to add that to her dirtied image…

Wait. What did she care what they thought? They’re demons. They hate her guts regardless.

Janet hands her some jeans, sneakers and one of her striped sweaters. Comfy. Simple. No longer Michael’s pampered princess, lounging about in an ivory tower (the beach house only had one floor but whatever), being handed whatever her mind could imagine and her heart desired to keep her satisfied. Time to get back to reality. That reality being literal Hell.

She moves to the back exit of the train and onto the platform.

“Will you be okay?” The question surprises Eleanor.

She’s never heard Janet ask a question about how someone is feeling, especially without it following a question or instruction she was given. It warms Eleanor’s heart a little to know she can count at least one friend on her hand.

Eleanor looks back at her and nods; “Yeah. Thanks, babe.”

Janet bings into her void, presumably, as Eleanor walks away from the station.

It’s at that moment, standing in the deserted town, sunlight creeping its way over the horizon, that Eleanor feels alone for the first time in many months. She’s glad that Janet made sure they arrived while everyone was asleep, or rather faking sleep if most of the residents here were not human. Or maybe, like Michael, they had discovered that was just another lie fed to them over the centuries. Either way, she was grateful not to have to deal with crowds of people gawping at her, running from her, or confronting her with fake attempts at comfort and confusion.

Even without being surrounded by demons, Eleanor feels the hand of fear gripping the back of her neck. She takes a deep breath. There’s no one to hold her hand through this. Janet couldn’t make her invisible (or maybe she could but she would have to show herself eventually). She is alone. She’s been alone her whole life and she made it through fine. Just fine.

She can do this.

Another breath, another step, then another. She starts to make her way through the quiet streets. There are lights on in some windows but no sign of shadows moving in the rooms behind. She can’t be sure there aren’t demons watching her now, waiting for their moment to strike. She doesn’t get the sense she’s being followed. It’s all so quiet. All so deceptively peaceful. No wonder she had-

“Oof!”

She’s so lost in her melancholy that she fails to notice the door of one of the FroYo shops open and the figure she bumps face-first into before it’s too late.

“Oh, shirt! Sorry, I…” Eleanor blinks, an apology on her tongue where once she would have snapped and put all the blame on her human obstacle.

The figure in Taiwanese monk robes turns to her, holding two large cups of frozen yoghurt coated in cream and cookies.

Eleanor’s heart skips a beat.

“…Jason?”

The Florida DJ stares at her, his expression even more vacant than usual. Oh man, did he manage to forget her in the two weeks he thinks she’s been gone?

She’s about to ask if he remembers her when his eyes light up like fireworks and he throws the cups of froyo into the air, letting them splatter back against the wall of the shop.

“YO, HOMIE!”

He flings his arms around her, spinning her with more strength than Eleanor ever thought the guy had in him. She wishes she could return the hug but her arms seem to have turned to jelly. When he lets her go, his hands stay on her arms, his childlike glee shining from his face.

Eleanor feels her heart thumping away. She hadn’t imagined that her first greeting would be this.

“Wow, Eleanor! We didn’t think you were comin’ back!” Jason says, louder than she would like right now; “How was your trip?”

“Uhm…not that fun. I went to Hell, remember?”

“Oh, dude, I know the feeling. Pill Boi and me once got on a wrong bus and it took us to this fancy-pants town near Daytona? They didn’t have a single Pizza Hut!”

Eleanor laughs, struggling not to cry. She hadn’t realised until this moment how much she had missed Jason’s inane stories or his inability to grasp the situation.

“Yes…You know exactly what I’ve been through.” She says, before looking around; “Listen. Jason,” she leans in close, clasping his hand in hers; “I need your help. Is there any chance you can sneak me into your bud hole without anyone else knowing?”

“Sure, dawg. I just had it all hosed so it’s real clean in there!” He says, cheerily.

Then he says things like that and Eleanor isn’t sure whether there’s a part of him that knows more than he lets on and just enjoys forking with everyone.

Or maybe he’s just a sweet idiot. Yeah, that’s more likely.

*

It wasn’t like she could just go back to the clown house. That wasn’t her home anymore. ‘Real Eleanor’ had taken that bed for herself. Waltzing into that pointy, colorful cottage would have been like walking into a tiger pit in a lamb costume. She wanted the demons of the town to be oblivious about her return for as long as possible, which was unlikely given Jason’s yoghurt explosion when he saw her.

She sits on the black bean-bag couch in Jason’s bud-hole, that feeling of loneliness closing in on her again. He’s barely been gone a few minutes. He told her that she was free to watch anything, play any of his video games, drink and eat whatever was in his fridge that wasn’t growing fur.

All Eleanor had the energy to do was sit and wait.

She had given Jason strict instructions. Go to her old house, get Chidi, bring him here but do not bring ‘Real Eleanor’, and then wake Tahani and get her in as well.

It was probably asking a lot, putting her fate into the hands of a dude who still believed in the Tooth Fairy. But, right now, Jason Mendoza was her only hope.

The thought does occur to her that this is Tahani’s house, she could easily go wake her herself.

This way is far better. She can already see the British bombshell screaming her head off at her friend’s unexplained reappearance from the chasms of the Bad Place, probably going to town on her with the first blunt object her perfectly manicured hands could grasp. Nah. Better Jason leads her here, same with Chidi. Eleanor needs to explain herself for once, as much as she is able.

The wait is unbearable. It shouldn’t take this long, her house is right next door! Surely even Jason can’t get lost.

Her head feels so heavy. Her eyes sore from having been awake so long.

She leans her head back, letting it indent against the polystyrene, staring up at the Christmas lights that Jason has used to decorate the ceiling. Pretty. She sighs, feeling the weight of all the truths she’d uncovered begin to collapse on her, dragging her down. It’s too much. She’s just one girl. She just wants to rest, damn it.

Her eyes close. A quick power nap won’t hurt.

_Michael twists his hand in mid-air, like turning an invisible dial._

_It causes the stars to move across the night sky, as if it were a mere planetarium exhibit. The moon, strangely enough, stays fixed and full, shining down upon them._

_He takes her hand and joins their fingers as one, tracing one of the constellations._

_“That one there? It’s called the Bow of Neris. It’s from about two galaxies over from your own.” He shows her, the two of them cuddled up beneath the blanket as they share a single lounger._

_Eleanor’s head is settled nicely on his chest; “How does it have a name if no one’s seen it, genius?”_

_“Oh, so only humans can discover these things? We’ve been naming all these stars while you were eating each other’s fleas.”_

_“That’s not saying a lot, dude, you should go to Louisiana sometime.” She chuckles, “So, hold on…you didn’t just draw all these stars? They’re really up there?”_

_“Sorta yes and no. I get to control the sky like a viewing window but, sure, the stars are still up there. The whole Universe is. You wouldn’t be able to go to Earth or anything like that but you could visit a different sun or check out a black hole…all kinda exists on a different plane of reality? I don’t expect your primitive brain to understand.”_

_Eleanor pokes him in the side; “Oi!”_

_“Oh…was that rude?”_

_She smirks; “Just a little. You’re learning.” She kisses his cheek and gets to enjoy seeing him blush._

_“Not quite as rude as revealing my cousin lost her virginity to her husband’s best man at her wedding because she wouldn’t let me be a bridesmaid.”_

_“Ha! Oh my god, I was so terrible that day,” She laughs, because she feels too good to feel bad about herself right now. And Michael laughs too. She bats his chest; “Hey! You’re not supposed to giggle at that, you’re a Good Place boy, you’re supposed to set a good example!”_

_“You must be a bad influence.” He moves his lips against hers, sucking her bottom lip and letting out a soft growl; “I won’t snitch if you won’t.”_

_“Deal.” She links her fingers with his; “Take me up there some day? Show me a star, all up close and personal?”_

_“They would still burn but I’m sure Janet can whip us up some protective force fields. I’ll think of something. What Eleanor Shellstrop wants, Eleanor Shellstrop gets. That’s the rule.”_

_“That’s the rule.” She echoes, looking into those bright blue eyes._

_Right now, she doesn’t need stars. Everything she wants is holding her in his arms._

Eleanor shakes herself out of the stupid memory. Was that to be her new self-imposed mental torture? Instead of flashbacks of Trevor’s abuse, she now had think about how Michael tricked her?

It was like her brain was being used in a game of catch between two demons.

“I still don’t get why you felt the need to throw rocks at my window.”

“It was to get your attention, man!”

“You already saw me outside!”

She looks up, her heart skipping a beat. Faint and distant as it is, she recognises that voice instantly. It’s the voice that has been in her head every time she picked up a philosophy book over the past several months. The voice that would translate all the rambling nerd-babble into making sense.

“Well, frankly, I don’t understand why I need to inspect your room. I’m the one that hosed all the mould down!” Another voice joins in.

Smug. British. Sexy giantesss.

The door opens and Jason leads the two of them in.

Now she’s trembling again. She gets to her feet, trying to stand up straight. She’s never been so nervous in her whole existence.

Chidi and Tahani stop dead in their tracks at the sight of her.

Eleanor tries to smile, her mouth twitching anxiously; “H-Hey guys.”

Fork, she really should have spent the last half hour rehearsing this reunion rather than daydreaming about her ex. She wonders if her clothes look all right, if they like how long her hair has grown out, and then she wonders why any of that should be important.

“Eleanor…” Tahani is the first to speak, Chidi continuing to stare, mouth gaping open without noise.

She gives an awkward wave; “Surprise! Bet you thought you’d seen the last of me?”

“Oooh, that chick from American Horror Story! I love that meme!” Jason beams.

The other two are still stunned into silence.

Eleanor clears her throat.

“Right, I get that you all have questions. I’ll answer as many as I can but I have things to tell you all as well, so if you wanna get straight down to the nitty gritty, we can spare all the awkward-.”

She’s cut off as Chidi rushes over to her and embraces her tight.

Her speech leaves her along with her breath. Oh, god.

Tahani is only a couple seconds late joining in, wrapping Eleanor in a three-way hug that makes her feel like she’s about to be swallowed in unexpected feelings. Her hands hang limp and useless at their sides. She wants to reciprocate but, wow, she honestly hadn’t expected this. She bites her lip as she resists the urge to cry, feeling so safe and wanted.

“Man!” Eleanor blinks when they finally release her, “Honestly hadn’t prepped myself for all the hugging. You guys got a lot more touchy while I was gone, huh.”

“Eleanor, we were so worried about you! We simply felt awful for letting them take you away!” Tahani has tears in her eyes, making those big browns even more sparkly.

“There was nothing you could’ve done, babe. The fact you cared enough to see me off was everything.” She reassures her.

When she had first departed on that train with Trevor, she had taken a snapshot of her friends on the platform in her mind and held it close for as long as she could during her torture, hoping it would be a candle for her in the darkest of times. That candle had flickered and blown out to an ember, at the end, but it never truly went away.

“No. No, we could’ve done more.” Chidi says, clenching his jaw; “We should have gone to Michael before you went off with Trevor or asked Janet to hold the train or…Ah, sorry. I’ve just been spending two weeks going over what I should have done and I think I’ve given myself a brain tumour!”

“Hey, dude,” Eleanor reaches out to him, her hand on his arm; “You’re the one who badgered Michael into getting me out of there. He might not have bothered if not for you. Michael may have got me released…but you’re the one that saved me. ‘Kay? So stop melting your head sponge, it’s kind of the most important tool we have.”

“You actually went there though? To the…Bad Place?” Tahani ventures.

Where does she even begin with that?

“Yeah. I did.”

“What was it like? I mean, no offence but, you…look pretty good.” Chidi says, confused; “You know what, I’m not sure why I thought that would be offensive.”

Eleanor regards herself. True, she must look the farthest thing from how a long-term tourist from Hell should look, the way she had looked when Michael found her. Her skin is nicely tanned, her hair long and bright from the sunshine, she’s probably put on a little weight while still keeping it toight. She must look like she’s been on vacation.

“There’s a lot I need to catch you all up on.” She gestures for them all to sit.

Tahani settles close to her on the couch and Eleanor lets her take her hand, mostly because the woman’s skin is so soft, it’s unreal. Chidi makes a failed attempt to sit upright in one of the inflatable chairs while Jason sits on the floor. He’s a surprisingly accommodating host.

“So, to start off…Yeah. I went to Hell. Real Hell.” Eleanor tells them, “And, to put it bluntly, it sucked major balls. Like…I can’t even begin to imagine to describe it to you guys…”

“We understand. Real Eleanor already described her ordeal to us.” Tahani says, nodding with sympathy; “If you were in her cell then, god, I hate to think of having your fingernails pulled while listening to jazz music and organising baby showers which we know you hate!”

Eleanor sets her jaw, feeling a rush of anger. Right. Real Eleanor.

The very idea of that demonic bench trying to twist her friends onto her side brings out a similar rage to what she felt when she had found those stupid tapes.

“Right. So, first off, that is bullshirt!” She snaps, “There was no jazz music, no baby showers, I would have murdered for a forking baby shower to plan and mess up! It was nothing like that! It was…brutal, bloody, violent torture!”

Chidi frowns; “But why would Eleanor…sorry, I mean Real Eleanor…gah, I know that’s worse, I-.”

“Her name isn’t Eleanor!” She tells them, frustrated; “There is no Real Eleanor except for me! Sorry to break this to you, man, but your ‘soul mate’ is the fake. She’s not even human! Her name is Vicky and, like everyone else who is outside this room, she’s a demon out to torture you!”

The whole room goes quiet, except for when Jason pops the cap off his Pepsi bottle.

Eleanor takes a breath, realising this isn’t going at all as she had scripted out in her head. She had planned to break it to them a bit more gently. She’s letting her temper get the better of her.

“…My soul mate is a demon?” Chidi asks, looking shell-shocked, seeking verification.

Part of Eleanor wants to laugh out loud at that. She has never felt closer to understanding Chidi than at this moment.

“There are no soul mates here, dude!” Eleanor says, “It’s all a lie! Everything here might look like Paradise but it’s really just a twisted little nightmare designed to fork with us.”

“But that means…” Tahani stands up; “… _this_ is the Bad Place?”

Eleanor makes a cheering gesture for her. The English goddess hit the nail on the head.

Chidi shakes his head; “Wait a minute…that makes no sense! You just told us how you were in the Bad Place, so how can this be it as well?”

“Well, you know our good pal Michael?” Eleanor recounts, getting up and taking a walk through the path of discarded video game cases; “Turns out he wanted to find a way to shake things up from the old fire, brimstone and knives they got going on down there. So, he thought up a new little version of Hell where four bozos are stuck together, told they are in Heaven, and then proceed to make each other miserable!”

Jason finally speaks, “Woah…We should find those guys, tell them what’s really going on.”

“No, dummy, the four bozos are us!” Eleanor tells him; “Think about it! I had to lie about who I was to stay here, Chidi was tortured by me getting him to help lie about who I was, I was bothered by Tahani being better than me, Jason had to do the thing he hates the most; be quiet and do nothing! This was all set up so we would drive each other crazy and all those other happy go-lucky residents were just there to stir the pot.”

“But that would mean that Michael-.” Tahani touches her chest.

“Is Head Boy Demon.” Eleanor confirms for her; “He’s the worst one of them all! He set this all up and showed up at the worst times to put us all through our own personal torments! And then when I started ruining his plans by saying who I was, he basically let me get carted off to that…Look, long and short of it, we cannot trust him, you guys.”

She already made that mistake and more. Never again.

“Wait…” Jason pipes up again; “If Michael is evil then what about Janet?”

“Hi there!” The not-lady bings into the room, immediately taking a seat beside Jason and holding his hand. The smile on the Florida dirtbag’s face shows he has forgotten his previous question.

Eleanor shakes her head; “No. Janet is cool, I trust her. She’s as much a sucker here as we are. No offence, girl.”

“I’m not a girl. But it seems I was a sucker for Michael’s lie.” Janet confirms.

Jason gives her a hug. Eleanor can’t help but feel a little envious that Jason got to have the relationship with the magical immortal being that seems to be healthy and stable.

She glances at Chidi and Tahani, who are staring glassy-eyed into space.

“You guys, okay? I didn’t just break you with all that, did I?” It was a lot of information to dispense in a couple of minutes.

She’s grateful that Janet showed up. It hopefully added more credibility rather than seeming like the ramblings of a torture victim driven to near-insanity.

“We’re in the Bad Place…” Chidi slowly shakes his head; “Stupid almond milk, I knew it would condemn me in the end!”

Meanwhile Tahani looks as though she’s trying to work out how she ended up here. Eleanor thinks she’s already worked it out but doesn’t have the heart to make her face up to it at the moment.

“Look, we don’t have time to go into all of that.” Eleanor says to them; “Our biggest priority right now is making sure Michael doesn’t fork with us again.”

“That’s what I still don’t get.” Tahani questions, looking at her; “…Where is Michael? I mean, you two must have come back together, surely?”

“We’re not together, why would we be together, that’s absurd! What are you suggesting?! You crazy, girl!” Eleanor deflects, tripping over her own tongue a little as the words stumble out.

Chidi frowns; “She meant on the train.”

Oh. Right. Shirt.

Eleanor looks into their eyes. They’ve seen right through her, just as she feared. She glances at Janet, who just gives a knowing smile, while Jason looks as clueless as ever. Rubbing her forehead, Eleanor goes back to take a seat.

“Fine…I’ll tell you guys everything.” She says, hands clasped in front of her, thumbs squeezed against the other; “I wasn’t in the Bad Place for two weeks. I was there for…a long time.”

“How long?” Jason asks.

“Long enough, bud.” She honestly can’t give an exact time. Part of her never wants to know for certain. She fears it will be both much longer or much shorter than it felt.

“The places in the afterlife don’t run on the same time stream. They can be manipulated and altered so one area experiences time faster than the other.” Janet explains.

“Oh, like Narnia?” Chidi reasons.

“Or like a Rod Stewart concert?” Tahani contributes, only to pull back when everyone stares at her; “Look, you’d know if his wife ever dragged you to one!”

Eleanor still can’t go into what happened to her. Not fully.

“As I said, the Bad Place lived up to its name. It forking sucks and I now know more than ever what is at stake for the four of us avoiding going there.” She tells them, looking into their faces; “By the time Michael got me out…I wasn’t even myself anymore. I didn’t look like I do now, I was…a mess. And I wasn’t ready to come back to face you guys, I was…too afraid. Not of any of you but…just afraid to do anything. I had to learn that it was okay to talk, to walk, to…be myself. So, Michael took me away. Took me somewhere I could rest up and…recover. Same as the Bad Place, I was there for…a year.”

She sees the reaction on their faces but she doesn’t let it distract her.

“Anyway, it was all going fine. I really wanted to see you guys but I didn’t wanna come back until I felt like the old me and, just as I finally felt ready, I find these tapes of Michael’s confessing everything. Or rather I hacked into Janet’s void. Pretty badash, I should’ve been a spy, but we don’t need to dwell on that.” Eleanor waves her hands; “Point is. I found out the truth and Michael didn’t deny it. I left and I’m pretty sure he won’t be too far behind, once he’s worked out what his next wicked little scheme is. He’s a demon, they’re all demons, this is Hell point two or whatever, and we need to get out. That’s it.”

“Wait…you and Michael were gone a year? Just the two of you?” Tahani continues to question.

What part of ‘that’s it’ did she not understand?

“Yes, okay! He…looked after me. Helped me get better.” She struggles to reveal more than that, but her resolve is weakening; “He…cooked for me. Stayed with me…Gave me anything I wanted…He was…my friend.”

Boyfriend. Oh, she can’t bear to say that word, not in front of them.

They all seem baffled enough at the thought of Michael being anything more than the bumbling Architect with poor knowledge of human social skills. The revelation he was her friend is more impactful than that he’s a demon. That’s a bit messed up.

“It wasn’t real. He wasn’t really my friend, he was my…warden. Or jailer, I dunno, I just know I was nothing to him but a pawn, a pet, a prize. Huh. I think that’s my first allegation.”

“Alliteration.” Chidi corrects.

“Oh, I forgot how hard it is to like you sometimes.” She jests, finding a brief bit of respite from the emotions she’s getting from talking about Michael; “He pretended to care about me for a year and I fell for it. Then I learned the truth. He’s been like that with all of us, to some degree. Tahani, he tried to be the proud father figure you wanted but was still always disappointed in you, right?”

The towering socialite gives a sad confirmation.

“Chidi, he kept teasing you with what you wanted in Heaven like soul mates and your dream job only to keep giving you things that weren’t what you really wanted. Jason…c’mon, he made you a monk! Monks don’t play Madden!”

“You’re right. He sucks.” Jason says the most sensible thing he’s ever uttered.

“And Janet can confirm, can’t you Janet.” Eleanor looks to the hot mainframe.

“Uhm…” Janet looks conflicted, even though her expression remained in its default delighted state as they had just been talking; “Michael is a jerk, yes, but…I’m not sure if I have a good grasp on judging people or immortals anymore.”

“Oh c’mon, Janet, you helped me stab the guy!”

“WHAT?” Chidi asks, shocked and appalled.

Eleanor waves it off; “I’ll tell you about it later…It’s awesome, I swear.”

She hated how she still felt strangely good over what she did. It was easy to remind herself what Michael had done, why he deserved it, how no matter what came out of his mouth she knew he couldn’t be trusted. She also hated how there was a tiny part of her brain still whispering that she had crossed the line. That she had become what she claimed to be against.

She looks at her friends again.

“So…are you guys with me? I know all that was pretty crazy to take in but,” She tries, suddenly nervous again; “Any minute now, Real Eleanor is gonna be looking for Chidi and Michael will probably be back looking for me…We need to get our shirt together.”

“Of course we’re with you, Eleanor!” Tahani says, so quick that it makes Eleanor melt a little, falling in love with the sexy skyscraper all over again.

Chidi nods; “You bet. This is all insane but…in a way it all kinda makes sense. We’re in.”

“You might have to lie to your fake soul mate about some stuff while we’re working things out, FYI.” Eleanor warns him.

“And I have a stomachache, thanks.”

They all suddenly start laughing. That’s when it finally hits Eleanor, as she glances around at the four of them…five now, including Janet. She’s back. She’s with the people she’s missed, who she thought would cast her aside, would see her for being unwanted trash. They’re all with her, without question, without reward.

She can’t help the sobbing that escapes her.

Tahani suddenly goes to her side; “Oh, darling! What’s wrong?”

Eleanor covers her mouth. How can she tell them about how alone she felt in that cell? How she tried to think about them every second to keep herself sane? How can she explain wishing they had been there to enjoy all the fun, magical stuff Michael conjured up for her over this year? It’s hard enough for her to say the words to express how much she loves them.

She blinks through her tears cascading down her cheeks, seeing they’re all around her now, all so concerned. All there for her.

“I just…missed you all so forking much!”

Their arms envelop her. Catching her. She might have to be hiding out in the scuzz room of a waster DJ, situated in a pastel version of Hell designed to torment them all, but she finally feels as though she’s home.

*

After an hour of chatting and catching up, Tahani brings up the good point that the demons will start to get suspicious if the four of them are nowhere to be found. She and Jason decide to be the ones to go into town, show their faces, try to distract ‘Real Eleanor’ from looking for Chidi if they come across her. Better that then have to put Chidi in a position where he needs to do what he hates most; lie.

He stays beside her on the couch in Jason’s bud-hole, sharing a large cup of Frozen Yoghurt that Janet delivered to them. Chidi is barely touching his side, more interested in watching Eleanor delve into her portion like a starving woman.

“I thought you said Michael kept you fed?” He asks.

“He did. Taught himself to be a pretty good chef as well, after first few attempts made me throw my guts up. But I haven’t had Frozen Yoghurt in well over a year.” Eleanor explains, wiping the sauce from her lips; “I forgot how pleasantly ‘meh’ it is!”

“You couldn’t have just asked Janet for some?”

She shrugs; “Why bother when I could have ice cream? Besides, it didn’t mean the same, eating it without you guys.”

Chidi smiles, warmly, at that.

“I missed you too.” He says, finally digging his spoon in and experiencing his side of ‘New Bookmark’ while Eleanor enjoyed ‘Cashier Asks For ID When You’re Over Thirty’.

Eleanor watches him. It’s always been easier for her to talk to Chidi than the others, more so with them not in the room. A part of her wants to share everything she had to go through while the nagging voice in her brain is convinced he would be too disgusted to look at her, let alone sit knee-to-knee with her like this.

"I’m sorry about Real Eleanor, dude.” She says, soft as she can; “I know how much finding your soul mate meant to you. And from that picture Janet showed me of you guys, you seemed happy. I get that you must be bummed.”

“You know what? I should be.” Chidi replies, thoughtful as ever; “But I’m not. I’m actually relieved! Isn’t that weird? I mean, she is…or rather pretended to be everything I should want in a soul mate. Kind, smart, beautiful, romantic. She did a good job pretending to love me and I really wanted to love her back…but I didn’t. And I’ve been feeling awful these past two weeks because, instead of bonding with my soul mate, I’ve spent every waking minute thinking about…well. You.”

Eleanor’s heart feels set to burst. She hopes that’s the emotions working away and not the FroYo making her feel unwell. She tries not to get all weepy again.

“I guess that’s how you know how much a relationship means to you, based on how much it hurts you when it’s over.” Chidi reasons.

A chill runs down her back. Chidi felt nothing over finding out his soul mate was a demon in disguise. Meanwhile, Eleanor was sat here putting every bit of effort into not thinking about Michael, as the very image of his face in her head made her heart ache. Maybe Chidi would be as devastated as she is had he been with Vicky-slash-Real-Eleanor for as long as she and Michael were together.

Damn it. She feels guilty for wishing heartbreak upon Chidi simply so she had someone who could empathise with what she’s going through. Someone she could confess the truth to.

“I know you hate lying, dude, but we are gonna have to try and put on a bit of an act until we can get out of dodge.” She reminds him, “And you shouldn’t feel bad about it, like before. They’re demons! They’re out to torture you. Surely that gives you some leeway.”

Chidi shakes his head; “Nope. Kant was always strict that no good comes out of lying, even to your enemies. If anything, it just sets you up as a more vulnerable target for when it all comes out.”

“Okay but my guy Ben – it’s what I call Jeremy Bentham – would say screw that, because our survival from eternal pain is at stake here and surely a little lie is permissible to justify everyone’s overall happiness in the end!”

The professor blinks at her, a smile dawning on him as if he’s seeing the sun for the first time.

“We didn’t even get to Bentham. You read on your own?”

“Yeah, man. I’m all self-taught now.” Eleanor boasts a little, while also blushing; “Studying was like a way to have you there with me whenever I missed you. I always imagined you were the one reading them to me. God, this is ridiculous, I even tried to share some of it with Michael! This was before I even knew he was a demon, just some…clueless angel who didn’t really have a grasp on morality other than what he was told. Teaching him what you taught me was another way of…channelling you, I guess?”

“I tried to do the same by watching your Real Housewives dvds. I nearly lost the will to live, even though I’m already dead.” Chidi responded.

She laughs with him, knocking their knees together and finishing the last of the yoghurt.

Eleanor glances down at the empty cup, the sadness creeping back once the laughter dies down. How she wishes she could just have it all go back to normal. Before the Bad Place. Before she ever even connected with Michael outside of being the guy to hide herself from. When it was just her and Chidi against the world.

“I can’t believe I thought I could help him the way you helped me.” She admits, morose; “It was all just part of his act. I’m such an idiot.”

“He really got to you, didn’t he?”

She nods, hating to admit even half of the truth; “I know it’s hypocritical, considering how much I lied…have lied in my life. But, even if I wasn’t always the best friend or girlfriend, I never made someone think I really cared for them when I didn’t. I always knew how forked up that was.”

She had grown up in a childhood of pretence and conditional 'love'. She made sure the ones she let into her life, allowed to get close to her, know fully what an ashhole she was to give them the choice to run.

For Michael to take advantage of her heart when she was most vulnerable…it was unforgivable.

“He was all I had, Chidi. He was my only friend.” She says, tearing up, furious; “I hate him.”

_I miss him._

Chidi is quiet for a long while until he takes her hand. His touch is so warm, so secure. She leans her head against his shoulder, the wool of his turtleneck rather comfortable.

“I would have taken care of you.” He whispers.

“I know, bud. I know.”

Hindsight is a bench.


	18. Chapter 18

It didn’t bother Michael that his second office was lost in the fire. Everything he had taken there was merely a replica of what was in his original back in the neighborhood. When he walks through the door, he’s greeted immediately with the original portrait of Doug on the wall and his displays containing his human collectables opposite his desk. His paperclips remain unscorched. The yellow toddler is safe behind the glass.

He stands before the mirror and adjusts his blue and green bow-tie, patting down his suit. It feels strange to dress like this again after a year in casual clothing. Even when he smartened himself up for night’s ‘out’ with Eleanor, he never went too formal, except for that final night when she requested he look like this. He understands why, now, as he coldly regards his reflection. This is definitely the image of a man who looks as though he’s in need of a good stabbing.

His stomach still smarts a little from the scar. Even though he trusts that Janet sealed him up securely, he winces at the thought of the skin falling apart again. Of the beast being let loose.

 _Look at yourself, Mikey. The beast is already in front of you_.

He had been plotting out his next move after the final pieces of what remained of the beach house crumbled into ash before his eyes, as well as on the train ride back. Eleanor was surely with her friends by now. He had no doubt they would welcome her back with open arms. But he also knew she would play this smart, that she would know to keep her head down and remain out of sight, sheltered from meddling demon hands. Including his. He doesn’t ask Janet to tell him where she is or what the humans are planning now. His one question; is she safe? Janet’s positive response was all he needed to hear for now.

His door opens and he turns on his heels as Vicky strides in.

“Hey, Boss! Welcome back.”

He bristles at her almost overly peppy greeting; “I know we’re the spawns of Hell, Vicky, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be polite and knock first.”

She rolls her eyes and knocks on the other side of the door, as if testing him a little.

He doesn’t rise to it; “What do you want?”

“Well, for starters, some gratitude would be nice! Me and the guys have been handling things pretty sweet while you’ve been gone getting Eleanor back and…” She frowns at him; “What, did you visit the Desert Neighborhood to get that tan?”

“Yes, yes I did.” He lies, “Great work they do there, you should see it! Humans buried up to their necks in sand, burning to a crisp, while the red ants come to feast, it’s spectacular.”

“I bet. So, that’s why you took so long, you decided to do some sightseeing for inspiration before grabbing Eleanor?” Vicky gives a nod, as if to say she’s impressed; “Fair enough, leave the bench to suffer, I’m digging it.”

There’s his cover story set up. Michael goes to take a seat back behind his desk.

“Now, obviously, humans are quite fragile after going through violent torture. I know you wanna get down to introducing her to Real Eleanor, making her feel like shirt,” He says to his employee; “But we need to give her some time, we can’t just rush in or she’ll fall apart too easily and the whole game will be given away. I think she’s gone to lay low somewhere, not quite sure yet.”

“Well, I’d normally say you should get your Janet to scan for her but she’s been rather useless since she was rebooted, barely does anything you tell her to do. I’d swap her out with a fresh one if I were you, Mike. They gotta have some newer models in that warehouse if you can get back. Maybe one with a less tinny speaker?” Vicky recommends.

He fakes a smile and a nod, as if he would ever do such a thing. He doubts that Janet’s ‘glitches’ here were less to do with being reset and more being busy holding the different time streams and providing whatever Michael and Eleanor needed at the beach.

“She should be up and running smoothly in a couple days and I’m sure Eleanor will be her old self by then as well. Until then if we could just, keep things ticking over, sound good?”

Vicky sighs, exasperated; “Fine! I mean I’ve been rehearsing my first greeting to her for about five hours every night for the past two weeks but I can perfect it a little more. It’ll also give me more time to torture Chidi.”

“How is that going?” He asks, blandly.

“Amazing! Dude feels so guilty because Real Eleanor is all over him and he clearly doesn’t feel the same way but is trying to force himself to love her, oh, it’s delicious!” She gushes, as if explaining a plot from a recent TV binge she’s into rather than a job.

Michael smiles; “I bet spending all that time with a human must be weird, huh. Hope you haven’t gone developing any touchy-feely emotions for your fake soul mate there!”

Vicky reels, making a face, as if Michael had just offered her a basket of kittens.

“Are you kidding?! You’ve been spending way too much time with Trevor, dude,” She scoffs, “It’s one thing having to kiss the guy and, sure, if I have go further than that than I am committed to the role to do so, but be sure to pass me the sick bucket afterwards! Humans are _dis-gus-ting!”_

Michael laughs and nods in agreement. Yes. Humans are revolting. How could any sane demon ever be attracted to one? Or, even crazier, fall in love with one?! He taps his pen against the desk, hand jittering away.

His nerves must be showing as Vicky gives him a funny look.

“Seriously, Michael, is something wrong?”

Oh, now she cares. Now one of his colleagues actually has the smallest bit of compassion to ask if he’s okay. He looks at her. No, it’s not compassion. Don’t be an idiot, Mike.

She wants to know if their job, their livelihood, is in jeopardy. It’s never just because they’re worried.

“Trevor really forked us over, taking Eleanor like that.” He says, clenching his jaw; “I gotta have a word with Shawn. If this experiment has been compromised because of him then I’ll be blessed before I let it fall on my head!”

Vicky takes the hint, at last, backing off; “Relax, dude! We got all it taken care of. We’ll let Shellstrop get nice and comfy and then, when she thinks all her troubles are over, I’ll swoop right in to pull that rug out from under her and the rest of those idiots.”

“Thank you, Vicky. I mean it. Thank you.” He tells her, as earnest as he can.

She grimaces; “Okay, too much gratitude, but I get you need to get into character as well. I’ll leave you to call the big boss.”

Vicky exits the room, at least remembering to close the door behind her this time. Michael takes a breath and gets to his feet.

Get into character. What does that even mean for him anymore? He doesn’t know who he really is, let alone who he is supposed to pretend to be.

Time is short. That one year with Eleanor had felt like a whole Bearimy in itself. Now he could feel the seconds counting down, as if on the timer of a bomb, like he’s Jack Bauer in that really overrated show he wishes he hadn’t chosen to watch instead of Breaking Bad.

What to do? What to do? Damn it, Mikey, think!

He reaches inside his suit and pulls out a small photo frame from the inner pocket. The one thing he did save from the beach house; the ‘selfie’ of him and Eleanor on that mountain. The last moment where he can remember the two of them together, both happy, both in love. Before everything went to shirt. He snaps his fingers, disguising it with the image of a paperclip bracelet to anyone seeing it who isn’t in the picture itself. He places it inside the cabinet with the rest of his collectables.

Michael looks at the image of the _‘dis-gus-ting’_ human he’s kissing in the photo. He winces, putting his hand to his abdomen, his scar starting to burn again.

He knows what he must do.

*

Eleanor mewls, pathetically, through her shattered jaw, mascara staining her cheeks.

He drags the knife down her arms, carving names. Words. Horrible, nasty words. Words she’s had to learn are true. He’s making sure that she never forgets.

Trevor stops to hold her head in place, fingers pinning her eyelids open. She has to watch herself.

“Behave, cutie. You don’t wanna make me angry.”

Never. It shouldn’t get worse than this. But it can be. She shudders, whimpering, the lack of a tongue making her sound like a wounded animal.

He sniffs her hair, one of his hands fondling the strap of the skimpy dress he likes to put her in.

This happens every, well, not day because there are no days here. No sunlight. No hope. No tomorrows. There just is. It happens a lot, Eleanor knows.

He likes her to see what she ‘really’ is. Red lipstick smeared on a slack mouth. Legs always to be spread. Never covered. Always ‘ready and waiting’. She hates it. She hates herself.

It is what it is.

“Now now. I can scratch these words on the insides of your eyelids if you prefer.”

His furious glare forces her to be silent.

She’ll be good. She’ll be good. She’d tell him as much if she could still speak. But she knows that good little whores are seen and forked but never heard. Fork, she knows.

“That’s my obedient piece of crap.” He moves in front of her and nods downward.

Her hands immediately reach forward. She doesn’t need verbal instructions anymore. She’d wet her lips if she could. They will have to do. All she is, all she will be, is a hole.

“You know somethin’, Shellstrop? I think you’re my favorite.” He whispers, plucking the hair from her sensitive scalp.

A rebel tear falls as she begins to bob her aching head over his cock.

Save me. Fork. Someone save me. Save me. Save me.

*

“Michael…Michael…”

She forces herself to sit up, her mind still half-way out of the nightmare, fighting for freedom. There are hands already finding hers, stilling her wrists. Firm but gentle. Strong. Secure.

The fear begins to wane, quickly, where once it would have kept her convulsing for a whole night.

Her eyes remain closed as she reaches out to touch his face. A kiss would be perfect right now.

“Michael.” She pants his name with such relief, if only partly because calling out to him is a reminder that her tongue is still there, as well as the man himself. That means she’s safe.

The skin that meets her fingers isn’t rough and lined. It’s smooth. Youthful.

Her hands tense and she pulls back. The familiar sickening sense of deceit creeps in on her again; “You’re not…!”

“No,” A different voice speaks. Even softer; “It’s me.”

She opens her eyes. Chidi is kneeling beside the sofa, his hands steadying her own. He blinks, perplexed and worried, through his glasses at her.

Eleanor bites back the almost childish snap of resentment on her tongue. _You’re not Michael! Where is Michael? Want Michael_ _!_ And then she runs her hands over her moist face. Damn it, now she would have to deal with both demons haunting her mind, day and night.

She should be grateful that Chidi is here, that he’s barely left her side for the past several hours, barring a lunch break where he had to ‘check in’ with Real Eleanor.

She knows there was a time when his presence, his constant support, meant everything to her. It still does mean a lot. But her heart is different now. It’s been through so much since they were last together. Her feelings are not what they were, if she can even be sure they were developing into…something. She wishes she could look into those kind, caring eyes and want nothing but him. Her flashlight in a dark cave.

Instead, all she’s searching for, is a fake angel.

She sits, placid, as Chidi rubs her back, her hands, fetching her a glass of water. He does the best thing he can do for Eleanor right now which is say absolutely nothing. Maybe he reads the dejected embarrassment on her face. Maybe it’s all too much for the college professor to process.

“Don’t tell the others.” Is all Eleanor asks of him. It’s bad enough he heard what he heard.

“Sure…” Chidi agrees, clearly wishing he knew more but, being the good man he is, doesn’t press.

He can wait for her to be ready to tell him, if he wants. He’ll be waiting a while. If Eleanor can take the truth about what happened with her and the twisted demon to the end of her existence, then she’s sure as Hell gonna. It’s strange how she feels more willing to tell them what Trevor did to her than what Michael did.

She’s had a year to let the wounds Trevor inflicted heal, as best they can. Michael’s are still raw.

They’ve moved from Jason’s bud-hole to one of Tahani’s sitting rooms. They’re on the second floor so they’re not too exposed. It feels good to be near a window, though Eleanor often suspects there is a demon or two trying to peek in on them, her mind playing tricks on her and making her see them in the corner of her eye.

She’s barely spoken all day since waking up from her nightmare, just offering the odd grunt or monosyllable response to her friends. It’s unclear what’s worse, the nightmares about Trevor or the flashbacks of her time at the beach. Both leave her feeling dirty. Tahani lets her have a shower. Eleanor stood beneath the hot, running water, turning the temperature up higher than she should have, letting it turn her skin from pink to red. She had grit her teeth and bore the pain like a champ, having suffered through far worse. Anything to wash the filth from her body. From her mind.

When she gets out, wrapped in one of the white, fluffy bath robes, she goes to the mirror to dry her hair. She stares at herself for a long time. She remembers. Remembers feeling so small. Weak. Helpless.

She remembers when Michael had to wash, brush and dry her hair for her. How he’d been too harsh at first, catching the tangles, making her yelp. But he’d kept practicing. He’d uttered apology after apology, combing a little gentler each time, until it had become something incredibly soothing. A nightly ritual that lulled her into content drowsiness, her limp body ready to be plucked up into his arms, either carried for a cuddle on the sofa, or tucked into bed.

And then later, many months later, when she could stand tall and brush her own hair. She remembers Michael running his fingers through the long, blond strands. Sniffing it as he held her close, as he moved deep inside her, made her cry out in ecstasy.

Was that how he liked her to look? Was that how he wanted to fashion his doll?

“Janet.” She hisses, watching the not-woman appear beside her; “Scissors, please.”

Janet hands her a pair. Eleanor takes them and grabs one side of her blond locks. She raises the scissors and begins hastily chopping away, cutting them from the length of her shoulders, seeing them be discarded into the sink below.

“I could do that for you, if you prefer.” Janet offers as Eleanor continues, making a real crabby job of it.

Eleanor relents, handing her the blades. Doing it herself had been a good release of tension. But she’s no stylist.

She will settle for continuing to glare at her reflection, running over the mantra in her head.

_Not his sweet girl. Not his anything._

Ten minutes later, Eleanor returns to her friends in the living room, her hair now restored to the shortened length it had been when they had last laid eyes on her a year-slash-two weeks ago.

“Oh, Eleanor, your hair!” Tahani is the first to notice, sounding disappointed at first, before Chidi gives her a nudge; “I mean, it’s lovely! I always thought your little bob was adorable! It’s just-.”

“It’s okay, babe. I liked it long as well.” Eleanor cuts in, not feeling offended. She gives a shrug; “I just needed to feel like the old me, y’know.”

They nod. But they don’t know.

She’ll make sure they never have to know anything close to what she went through.

It’s a few hours later when the doorbell makes them jump. All four of them are in the downstairs foyer together, plus Janet. Eleanor freezes. Have the demons decided to come begin their new form of torture?

“Hey, guys? Is it all right if I come in?”

Michael.

He sounds so, casual. Normal. It makes Eleanor’s blood boil again.

Everyone is on their feet with Eleanor stood at the centre.

“What do we do?” Tahani asks, panic evident in her voice, “Do we run?”

“No.” Eleanor responds, instantly; “I’m done hiding from demons. We deal with whatever he has in store for us. Together. Besides, we have Janet. She doesn’t need to listen to what Bad Place people say if it endangers humans.”

“Right. Although, I am programmed to instantly obey any requests, so if Michael does ask me to harm you before you can tell me to stop, that’s my bad.” Janet explains.

Eleanor nods, though the others look nervous. It’s better than nothing.

She looks at Tahani and nods. It’s her house after all. She has the final say.

The gorgeous socialite takes a breath; “Come in.”

It must feel like welcoming in a vampire. It’s not too far off the situation.

Michael opens the door and, somewhat cautiously, sidles his way in, as opposed to how he used to waltz into everyone’s house as if he owned them. Which, to be fair, he did.

Eleanor steels herself. It’s an odd sensation, seeing him dressed as The Architect again. Back to his bright gray suits and colorful bowties, the striped socks visible beneath his trousers. It was always too hot for socks at the beach, at least during the day. She has a brief recollection of tugging off his socks with her toes whenever he dressed up nicely to take her to a simulated bar or dancing in a location her wild imagination desired and the date would end, predictably, with them coiled together, embraced in carnal bliss.

Her heart blooms with gratitude when she feels Chidi take her hand. Yes. Keep her focused.

This isn’t her boyfriend. It’s the Devil.

“What do you want?” She asks, sternly, feeling incredibly brave given the circumstances.

Michael takes a step closer and the humans, plus Janet, all take a step back. Except Eleanor. She stands her ground, Chidi’s hand still in hers, despite his reflexive retreat. If Michael has come to hurt her friends then he will have to come through her first.

He seems to read the room, not taking another step, raising his palm up.

“O-kay. I’m gonna take a shot in the dark and guess that Eleanor has told you all everything.” He says.

“Of course I forking did.” Eleanor replies, scathingly; “Your little play-time is over, Michael.”

“That’s right! We know everything!” Tahani joins in, “Well, actually, there’s quite a lot I don’t know, or don’t understand. For example; why am I in the Bad Place, exactly? I raised billions for charity! How does that not get one into the Good Place?!”

Michael gestures to her; “Ah, well, see it’s down to your motivations. You never-.”

“Oh, save it! First of all, Tahani,” Eleanor looks to her friend; “We really don’t have time to focus on how much of a narcissistic attention hog you were. And secondly, Michael already admitted to me that this whole point system is royally forked up and isn’t fair at all! Unless that was another part of the lie?”

He looks at her, biting his lip; “No…That was true. I don’t claim to know how the point system is managed, fairly. It’s just how it’s always been and…we were taught never to question it. Angel or demon.”

Eleanor believes that much. She feels somewhat validated, having fretted over all those souls unfairly sent to be tortured forever, all because of some messed up lottery that was nearly impossible to beat. She could forgive Michael for being so ignorant when that was his only failure. But knowing he had been one of those who inflicted pain and suffering on humans for billions of years, thinking nothing of them as if he were an exterminator sent to poison a bunch of rats, made her skin crawl at the sight of him.

“What I don’t understand is the purpose of you setting this all up when there is an actual Bad Place with physical torture.” Chidi questions, “Why not just send us there?”

“Because while some demons like Trevor get their kicks out of being a bloodthirsty sadist, Mikey here likes to jerk off to cruel pranks and mind games. It’s just how you like it, hey bud.” Eleanor taunts him.

He narrows his eyes at her, biting the inside of his lip. He clearly is loathing how much she can see through him now. It feels rather good, for Eleanor anyway.

“I just wanted to try something different.” He tells them; “Demons were getting bored of the old scorpion diapers and penis flattening. Humans that were tortured like that became so broken and traumatised that it stopped feeling like there was anyone left worth punishing.”

That hadn’t been the deal with Trevor. He seemed to be a special case. Lucky Eleanor.

“Listen, I didn’t come here to explain myself to any of you!” Michael retorts, “Let’s be honest, none of it makes a blind bit of difference. You all know the truth, you all hate me, and frankly you’re all a huge headache as far as I’m concerned, so let’s just get down to brass tacks.”

Hearing him speak so blunt, so dismissive, with such resentment for all of them makes Eleanor cringe. It should be refreshing, really. She’s seeing the real him now.

The mask is gone.

“Fine. Talk.” Eleanor orders.

He takes a breath; “Look, the reason I came here was to let you know what your options are. Obviously, my original plan is over, it can’t work if you’re all aware of what’s happening. So. What’s next? I’ve just come off a very long call with my boss. He’s agreed to let me reset you and start the experiment over.”

“Reset us?” Chidi asks.

“Yeah. Erase your memories, take away everything that’s happened to you since you died and I welcomed you into the ‘fake Good Place’.” He explains, flippantly.

Eleanor can feel the others stunned reactions that match her own.

“That would be like killing us.” She whispers, horrified.

“Well. No. You’re already dead.” Michael shrugs, cold and careless. Eleanor is infuriated.

“Dude! You erase who we are, what we know, the bonds we’ve made and what we’ve lived through – that’s murder! That is literally wiping a person from existence!”

“She’s right.” Chidi nods, “I mean it’s a classic Descartes position that who we are is defined by-.”

“All right, nerd boy, quiet down! I don’t need a lecture, I spent enough time with Descartes when I used to dunk him in the snake pit!” Michael dismisses him, “I knew you would all get worked up over this, I wasn’t actually going to do it! It’s just a lie I sell to my boss and the other demons here so that they think we’re starting over. And it means giving Vicky, Real Eleanor, a different role so she’s not hassling you all the time.”

Eleanor folds her arms; “Wait, so, you want us to pretend to forget everything that’s happened since we died? And do what, just knowingly let you torture us?”

“No. Well, kinda, a little. It’s what I pitched to you…y’know, the other night.” He says, awkwardly, looking briefly at the others. He doesn’t know how much she’s shared.

Eleanor can’t help but smirk.

“The night I stabbed you? Oh yeah, I remember.” She gloats, wishing she could do it again, right now. She loves watching him squirm; “You let us know what your buddies have planned to torture us and we just grin and bear it?”

“Right. And the rest of the time you can just hang out, ask anything you want of Janet, have your ethics lessons, all that garbage. Whatever you want. I mean, surely it’s better living through the odd practical joke, than spending every day having your skin peeled off and your bones broken, agreed?”

She feels conflicted, hating how much his logic holds true. She can already sense the others exchanging glances. They’re considering his offer. Beautiful idiots.

Eleanor meets his gaze; “You said options. Plural. What’s the others?”

“Option two, if you really don’t want to stay here, is you get Janet to take you on a train out of town to stay with a woman called Mindy St. Clare.” He explains, “She lives in a neutral zone between the Good and Bad Place.”

“A Medium Place?! That’s what I’ve been asking for this whole time!” Eleanor exclaims, turning to the not-robot; “Janet, why didn’t you tell me about this when I asked if there was somewhere for us to hide?!”

“You asked me if there was somewhere Michael couldn’t find you ‘here’, as in the neighborhood.” Janet replies, factually, before twiddling her thumbs in front of her; “Sorry…Still getting around taking questions too literally.”

“And what is this Medium Place like exactly? Are we talking Hilton or Premier Inn?” Tahani asks, uncertain.

“I’ve never actually been there, or met Mindy herself,” Michael tells them, “It’s somewhere designed by both Places to both satisfy and torture at the same time, so expect things like a bottomless cookie jar but they’re all gingernuts, or your favorite movies but they’re all on those scratched dvds that stop every ten minutes, that sorta thing. Also, Janet’s powers won’t work there.”

“You’re not selling this that well, dude.” Eleanor says.

“I also know that it’s somewhere demons are not allowed to enter.” He says the final part that makes all the difference, his eyes focused on her; “You go there, it might not be Heaven and it might be a bit of a drag, but it will be safe. And…you’ll never have to see me again.”

Eleanor feels her heart stop at that. She takes a breath, feeling a conflict of emotions in her head, clenching her fists as she keeps her arms folded.

“Now you’re talking.” She seethes, throwing her hands up; “All right. I’m sold on Mindy’s. Love Mindy, big fan.”

“Are those the only options?” Tahani asks him.

“Well, no. I could actually reset your memories but, seems like a cheap shot and I can’t guarantee you won’t all just work it out again anyway.” Michael says, sounding almost tired; “And the final option is you all just refuse to go along with any of this, reveal you know everything to the other demons, they get the word to my boss and you all get sent to the real Bad Place, which as I’m sure Eleanor will or has already told you…kinda sucks.”

There’s no denying that, even if she never went into the full details of what Trevor did to her. As existentially horrifying as the idea of mental annihilation is, it was preferable over herself or her friends suffering what Trevor did to her for eternity. Like putting a sick dog out of its misery.

Both those options made the other two seem like Disneyworld.

“Humans and Janets Only Huddle, everyone.” She gestures for everyone except Michael to follow her to the back of the room.

The five of them move in close in a circle.

“Okay, first off, I don’t trust a word that comes out of that demon’s mouth.” She utters in a low voice to the others; “So, Janet, how much of what he said is true?”

“I can only confirm that there is indeed a Medium Place for a woman named Mindy St. Clare and, as Michael said, it is off limits to both Good and Bad Place employees.” Janet says.

“Meaning it’s the only place we’re safe from Michael and the others for good.” Eleanor nods, “I’m all for that. Guys?” She looks to the other three.

Jason looks conflicted; “I dunno, man. I mean bein’ trapped in a Medium Place forever sounds kinda lame, wouldn’t it be better to stay here in the Good Place?”

“This is not the Good…! We just-! Oh, forget it.” Eleanor’s palm meets her face; “Janet, help.”

“In the Medium Place, we’ll be able to stay together and try to have sex.” She tells Jason.

“Ahh, sweet! I’m all in for Mindy’s Place!” The Florida homeboy is won over.

Eleanor sighs; “That’s three for Mindy’s. Chidi? Tahani?”

“As tempting as it is to stay in this lush mansion rather than whatever dregs await us in this other place…it’s not worth it if we’re not all together.” Tahani says, heartfelt; “I trust Eleanor’s instincts, after what she’s been through with Michael. I vote Medium Place.”

She could kiss the posh British princess right now. Eleanor looks to her favorite nerd bud.

“Chidi?”

As usual, he looks conflicted when faced with a choice; “Well, I mean, Tahani makes a good point. You’re the one who knows the most about what we’re dealing with and if you think we’re best off going to the Medium Place, then I’ll agree. But…don’t you think it’s weird that Michael is giving us a choice at all, after what you said about him?”

Eleanor huffs, “Look, dude, this is him trying to mess with us again! He wants us to disagree and be at each other’s throats, to keep torturing each other. I seriously doubt he expects us all to agree or want to go this place he can’t follow, when he made it sound so dull. But we call his bluff, we get out of here, we’re all safe. It’s a no brainer.”

Chidi still looks uncertain but is swayed by the rest of the group’s decision. He puts his hands up and nods. All five for Mindy St. Clare.

“All right, Mikey. We’re done.” Eleanor calls to Michael again, getting him to look over; “We’re going to the Medium Place.”

He stares at her. Only her, as if the others are not even present. Then he nods.

“Thought so.”

“And don’t even try to talk us out of it because- wait, what?” Eleanor stumbles, frowning. She hadn’t been expecting his acceptance.

Michael shrugs; “We all want to be free of each other, correct? That’s the best solution for everyone. Just get Janet to call you a train and you’re all set. I’d recommend waiting till the evening when there’s less demons in town. But other than that…Have a nice afterlife.”

He gives a vague wave and tries to walk away. Chidi steps forward.

“Wait.” He calls out; “What’s gonna happen to you?”

Eleanor frowns; “Why should we care?”

Because she does. She doesn’t want to admit it but Chidi only asked aloud the question in her head she had been blocking out since Michael mentioned the idea.

“Oh, best case scenario, I get a slap on the wrist for losing my humans. But the experiment was already compromised by Trevor so I’ll try to lean on that to get me some sympathy.” Michael waves off; “I’ll probably have to go back to being an apprentice for a few more centuries before being given another neighborhood of my own.”

“And then it’s back to torturing as usual for you.” Eleanor shakes her head. She can’t believe that she had actually hoped, for the tiniest of moments, that she could change what he is.

“Someone’s always being tortured here. If it’s not me doing it, it’s another of the billions of demons here. It’s not any of your guys concern.” He says, tersely; “A couple hundred years at Mindy’s, your human brains won’t be able to keep hold of too many memories. A few centuries, you’ll all still be together, but you’ll have forgotten all about this place. You’ll have forgotten about me.”

Eleanor bristles, looking away from him.

“A few hundred years? Don’t flatter yourself. I give it six months until you’re not even a nagging thought in my head, bro.”

She hopes so. She wishes that she could. Maybe she may as well ask him to erase all her memories of him now. Take away Trevor too and just leave her friends. The one thing, the only bonds in this Universe, that she trusts are real.

Michael takes a breath and adjusts his glasses.

“Before I leave you all to it, I’d just like one final word in private, if that’s okay.” He asks, oddly humble.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Eleanor glares.

“Not you! Chidi.” He nods at the man beside her, “Just a quick word, please?”

Chidi lets go of her hand and Eleanor wants nothing more than to grab him and sink her nails in to keep him there. He gives her a look and Eleanor doesn’t know what to say or do. On the one hand, she doesn’t trust Michael to be alone with any of her friends, or herself. But Chidi is free to make his own choices, when he’s not crippled with his indecisiveness.

He seems to read Eleanor’s expression and take the leap for himself.

“Sure…” He moves away from her and follows Michael out the door.

Eleanor steps forward; “You do anything to him, Michael, and I swear-!”

“Eleanor.” It’s Chidi who turns around, his hand up, placating her; “…I’ll be fine.”

She takes a breath, holding herself back. He better be, or else some serious shirt is about go down.

Once they’re out the front door, Eleanor hears Tahani start talking with Janet and Jason behind her. They’re all curious about what this Medium Place will be like, or if it’s worth giving up a fake version of the Good Place for it. She wishes she could explain to them that an eternity in blandness is a million times better than living among demons or, worse, being sent to the Bad Place. If they had a single clue what she had suffered, what it took away from her, they would understand how serious this was.

They would know that Michael and all his monstrous buddies were not worth risking being around for another second. She keeps her eye on the door, wishing for Chidi to reappear, safe and sound. She’s tempted to go to the window and peek in on their conversation. Make sure Michael isn’t turning him into a goat or some random shirt.

Eleanor is ready to move when the door opens and Chidi walks back in, alone, his eyes downcast.

“Thank, God.” She runs up and hugs him, “Did he do anything to you? Did he hurt you? Did he do like a snappy thing with his hands?”

“No, nothing like that,” Chidi frowns, his hands on her arms as she pulls back; “He just…wanted a quick talk.”

“About what? Don’t let him get inside your head, dude, it’s what he does!”

“He didn’t try to, I don’t think. He just wanted to ask me one thing.”

“What?” Eleanor frowns, now just as worried.

Chidi looks into her eyes; “He asked me to look after you, Eleanor.”

A hot rush of fresh anger runs through her bloodstream. She moves past Chidi to the front door, ignoring her friends calls after her as she leaves the house.

Michael is walking down the path when she exits.

“How forking dare you?!” She shouts after him, making him pause; “Where do you get off asking my own friends to care about me, as if I was ever yours to care about?!”

He stops in his tracks, not turning around at first, hands in his pockets.

“You might wanna start packing. Like I said, Medium Place can be really dull, from what I hear. Might wanna bring as many dusty books for you and your friends to study for a good, long while.” He tells her, lazily, barely glancing over his shoulder.

The fact that he can’t even afford the effort to look her in the eye infuriates her more.

She strides, threateningly, down the path towards him; “What do you have planned? Hmm? I know you, Michael. I know this was your life’s work, I know how far you were willing to go to keep what’s ‘yours’! There’s no way you would just let us go.”

Michael sighs; “I thought you said you didn’t know me at all.”

“Don’t play games, man, not with me, not anymore.” Eleanor grits her teeth, fists clenched at her sides; “You’ve lied about everything else so far, how are we supposed to know for sure you’re not about to lure us into a trap and screw us over again?”

He turns to her, showing his hands, his expression still strangely exhausted. His skin suit suddenly looks even older than usual.

“You don’t, I guess. But you may as well try, right? Otherwise you’re stuck here, with me, and we both know that’s not what you want. This way, you get to move on, be with your friends.”

“And you get a fresh batch of humans to torture, right?” Eleanor says, mockingly; “I bet you there won’t be one as hot as me.”

Michael manages a smile, looking down; “Most unlikely.”

Eleanor wants to scream at him to stop. Stop it now. Stop looking so sad. So final. Stop acting as though this is something to help the both of them because they both know that the only one Michael cares about is Michael. Not gross, sinful humans. Not her. Never her.

“I would have stayed with you forever.” She tells him, fighting back the tears.

He remains quiet. His eyes remain at her feet.

It makes her thirst for more pain from him. She’s not done getting her payback.

“I bet you’d love just one last taste, huh.” She moves in closer, slow and careful steps.

That makes him blink, looking up; “Excuse me?”

“Oh c’mon. You and Trevor aren’t all that different. Both have a thing for humans, you just have a different preference in mind.” She covers her upset with a tone of sensual teasing; “How about one last fork for the road, huh? I’ll even let you take the lead this time, all the way, whatever you want.”

Eleanor moves in close, pressing herself against him, not caring that they are outside for anyone to see, despite the pathway being deserted. She forgets that her friends could be watching her.

It doesn’t matter right now. Not when this might be her last moment to torture her torturer.

She turns her head to the side, showing her neck, eyelids batting up at him.

“Go on. Take a bite of your sweet girl before she’s gone for good.” Eleanor whispers, one hand moving up his suit; “Claim what is yours, right?”

Michael stares down at her, his expression unreadable.

He licks his lips and she’s certain he’s going in for a kiss, a suck, a bite, whatever he can take. The air between them is so thin. She can feel his breath already, hungry and wanting. He might be a creepy ash creature stuffed into the shape of a man, but he’s still a slave to that man-shape’s needs. He puts his hands on her arms.

He looks down at her, close enough to meet her lips. If he wanted.

Instead he moves his hand up, stroking her recently cut hair. She waits for him to comment on it. All he does is smile, his voice breaking when he finally speaks;

“Goodbye, Eleanor.”

His hands release her and he steps away. He turns. He leaves her alone.

She wants to shout after him. She wants to swear every filtered curse word under the sun at him. She wants to scream, with tears running freely from her eyes, about how this is all just a way of her coping with losing the one she’s loved more than anyone else in her life and that she doesn’t know how to stop. She wants to run after him. She wants to never see him again.

She wants…Fork, she just wants it to be over.


	19. Chapter 19

When Michael leaves Tahani’s house with Chidi following behind, he hides a smile. Not one of malice or cunning, but admiration. Eleanor’s threat to him if he hurt her friend was echoing in his ears. She could put a mother lioness to shame when it came to how passionate she was to protect them.

“What’s this about?” Chidi asks when the door is closed.

It’s also surprising to him how little fear there is this annoying geek as well, given how he’s aware that he’s now left alone with a literal demon. Michael hears his thumb tapping against his hip, giving away some of his nerves.

He wouldn’t be a genius if he wasn’t slightly afraid.

Michael turns to him; “I need you to do something. And before you start, I know I shouldn’t expect you to do anything I ask of you, given the whole torture thing, but it’s not for my benefit.”

“What is it?” Chidi frowns.

He looks over the man’s short, dark hair to back at the house. He half expects to see Eleanor peeking through the window, maybe doing that gesture with her fingers to her eyes to let him know that she’s watching him. The window is bare. He knows she’s still there.

“Just take care of Eleanor. She needs someone to watch her back.”

“I’m pretty sure she can take care of herself, man.” Chidi replies, defensive.

“That’s just it, she wants everyone to think that but it’s not completely true!” Michael tells him, finding his own passion now; “Yes, Eleanor is tough as nails and brilliantly perceptive, but she wants the world to think she’s indestructible and she’s not, Chidi! I’m the one who had to see what a broken Eleanor Shellstrop is like. And while she might have made extraordinary progress in a year, she’s not done. I guarantee you that.”

“Is this your attempt to make me question her judgement?” Chidi cleverly asks the right question.

Michael almost laughs. Yes, that would be very in character for him as a manipulator, if it were any other circumstance. He doesn’t expect to be trusted, not after all that’s happened.

“No, her judgement of me is spot on, I’m the Worst and you should all get as far away as your little human stumps can carry you.” He replies, briskly; “It’s her sense of self-preservation that’s not all there. To give you some idea, the last night we spent at the beach, where she stabbed me – which, as I’m sure you’ll agree, isn’t exactly reaching the high bar for stability anyway – I had to pull her out of the ocean because she didn’t realise how close she was to drowning!”

Chidi blinks at that; “You think she’s prone to self-harm?”

“Not intentionally. She’s just…got a lot of ghosts, up here,” He taps his head; “And when she’s triggered and they resurface, she can’t see the danger she’s in. I never really understood it before but since Eleanor taught me how to sleep, how to dream – worst thing ever by the way - I’ve started to get some idea of how forked up your human brains can be. I’m not saying she’s crazy, she’s just…She hasn’t told you everything that happened to her, has she?”

Chidi shakes his head. Michael expected as much. He wonders if he should if Eleanor isn’t going to. Someone should now exactly how deep her scars go if they are going to help heal her as he did.

“It was bad, Chidi. Worse than anything you can imagine. I won’t go into details if she won’t but…” Michael takes a breath; “Just be there for her when she needs you. Got it?”

Chidi is staring, intently, at him. His thumb is no longer twitching. Fear has been replaced with intrigue.

“I still don’t get it. Why let us escape?” He asks Michael, “Why try to save us?”

“Not _you_. Eleanor.” He bites back, coldly, before melting a little; “I know she won’t be truly happy without all of you with her. No matter what I gave her during this last year, no matter how happy she was with me, I could see how much she missed you all. You’re her family. She needs you.”

And he doesn’t have an explanation for why that matters to him. He’s unsure why he needs one. Chidi is the moral philosophy expert, he should know the answer!

He seems to work it out, reeling back a bit, a smile of genuine surprise on his face.

“You love her.”

It feels so weird to have someone else say it out loud. Not wrong, just strange. As if someone was confirming for him that they had seen something he thought was merely a hallucination.

Michael scoffs and shakes his head, like a petulant teenager.

“Maybe I do. So what?”

Chidi smirks, seeming to find it very amusing; “It’s just…y’know. A demon in love with a human. Very tragic Greek romance. I mean it’s kinda trite but…sweet.”

Sweet?!

“Wow, man! What a way to kick a dude when he’s down!” Michael complains, feeling dirty at what he knows wasn’t an insult as far as the human is concerned but should be to him.

 _Dis-gus-ting_ , he hears Vicky taunt in his head.

“You and Eleanor should talk.” Chidi tells him, turning serious; “It doesn’t feel right, letting you leave things like this.”

“Chidi, we have talked! There is nothing I can say or do to convince her what we had is real!” Michael tries to explain, fighting to keep himself in check; “And it’s probably better this way.”

“How exactly?!”

“Do you know what Eleanor’s greatest fear is?” He asks the human, who obviously doesn’t know because he hasn’t been privy to reading Eleanor’s entire psych profile; “It’s being vulnerable. Right now it’s easier for her to believe that all we had was some stupid game I put on than anything real, that she really loved me and I loved her, and that I really did betray what we had. Like I said, her mind is dealing with enough as it is, it doesn’t need anymore complicated feelings screwing it up! I spent months helping to put her back together, I will not let anything break her again…least of all me!”

He’s shaking a finger in Chidi’s face at this point, biting his lip to keep himself from showing too much weakness in front of the human. If nothing else, Chidi finally seems to get the seriousness of what Michael is trying to get through to him.

He steps back, trying to cool himself off.

“Now, if you’re done ribbing on me, you can go back inside, I’ve said all I need to.” Michael tries to dismiss him and free himself from this conversation he wishes he hadn’t started.

The professor continues to halt him.

“One more question. Why are you asking this of _me_?” Chidi asks, curious.

What is it with humans and their inane questions in times of crisis? The answer should be clear as day.

“Because,” Michael concedes, “You never let go of her hand.”

He had watched them the whole time, his eyes occasionally glancing to Eleanor’s hand in Chidi’s, during their negotiation. At first there had been a flare of jealousy in his gut. The realization suddenly staring him in the face that he had lost his Arizona beauty to some morally uptight poindexter. It made him want to throw an elephant at the two of them to split that tangle of fingers apart. Then that sickening envy was replaced by acceptance and then, even faster, relief.

Eleanor would not be alone. Eleanor would be happy. Eleanor would be loved, truly, by someone kinder and wiser than him. Someone she deserved.

How ironic. He set Eleanor up as Chidi’s ‘fake soul mate’ and, it turns out, he’s probably the best man to be with her after all. The only man fit to replace whatever he meant to Eleanor.

Way to go, Mikey.

*

“’Can’t believe he told you that! He had no forking right!” Eleanor fumes, getting up out of her seat.

“Well, is it true? Did you not realise you were close to drowning yourself?” Chidi asks.

“That’s not the point, dude! If I didn’t wanna tell you what a wreck I can still be then it wasn’t his place to say it!”

“Well, ethically speaking, if someone is at risk of self-harm, you should inform whoever is closest to them. It really seemed to me like he was just making sure you would be safe.”

Ethics, ethics, why did everything have to come down to ethics with this guy? It wasn’t as if it was his day job. Okay, it was, but that didn’t stop it from annoying the shirt out of Eleanor.

Chidi has never been one for keeping secrets, Eleanor knows this. It takes less than a minute, when they’re finally sat on the train, for her to get him to reveal the entirety of his and Michael’s conversation on Tahani’s front lawn. Even after she makes him relay it to her three times, she struggles to find whatever subtle, hidden meaning or tactic is in the words.

“You sure he wasn’t doing something with his hands? Like hypnotising you, maybe? Or pointing to a bunch of background demons you couldn’t see?” She asks, suspicious.

“No, for the last time, all we did was talk!” Chidi responds, sounding annoyed at this point; “Why is it so hard for you to believe that Michael really cares about you?”

“Did you not listen to the whole ‘lying about being in Heaven’ part?” Eleanor argues back, pacing up and down the aisle of the train car; “We have no reason to believe a word he says!”

Janet and Jason are sat a few rows down, kissing and oblivious to the conversation, while Tahani sits next to Chidi, hands in her lap as she watches Eleanor wear out the floor.

“Eleanor is right. I haven’t felt this betrayed since my friend Gwen promised to name her child after me and ended up with choosing another random fruit.” The taller woman mopes.

“Gwyneth Paltrow?” Chidi guesses.

“No, Gwen Smith, my seamstress’ sister. I did know ordinary people!”

Chidi gets back to the topic he won’t seem to drop; “Look, I get that Michael isn’t trustworthy, but do you not think there is the tiniest possibility that, just maybe, he actually did develop real feelings for you?”

Obviously, it had entered her head. It had been the last shred of hope she had clung to when discovering those tapes. She had even been generous enough to give him one last chance to prove himself, to tell her the truth, while swearing on her soul and it had amounted to nothing.

The train is rolling away. They were finally getting as far from this saccharine fake paradise as they could. Far away from Michael. They should be celebrating.

“He’s a demon! His entire existence has been about torturing people! He is evil incarnate, how is someone like that capable of love when all they’ve been taught is to be cruel?!” Eleanor reasons.

“Ah! So you’re saying that anyone who is born into an abusive environment will always turn out to be an abuser themselves, no matter what? And they can’t change?” Chidi challenges.

Tahani is the first to take offence at that; “Hey! Speaking as a child of two mentally abusive wankers, I rather resent that! I might not always be the most thoughtful person but I can say with confidence that I’m trying to be better!”

Chidi holds his hands up, innocently.

“I’m not the one saying it.”

“Neither am I!” Eleanor retorts, “I’m from a broken home too, you guys, did you forget that? I might have grown up to be trash but, just like you Tahani, I’m making an effort to improve and so is Jason…”

She turns to see the guy not paying attention to the conversation. He’s too busy showing Janet how he’s able to dislocate his wrist.

“…I think.” Eleanor frowns and then waves her hand; “I’m not saying every human is trapped in a cycle of being a deckhead. We’ve proven that’s bullshirt. But we’re not talking about humans here! We’re talking demons! And I’ve spent enough time around demons to know they are all disgusting, sadistic, creatures of darkness. They can never be anything else!”

“So, we’ve moved on from nurture defining us, to nature?” Chidi counters, tapping his finger against his chin in thought; “All demons are evil, all demons are the same, no exception? Sounds a little bit racist.”

Eleanor stamps her foot; “Oh, c’mon Chidi, be cool! Is now really the time to play the race card on the dumb white girl?! Why do you suddenly care so much about the guy who wanted to torture you?”

“I don’t care about him!” Chidi gets to his feet now, facing her; “I care about you! And I don’t want you to spend eternity feeling like you made a mistake, giving up on Michael too soon, or wondering if you were wrong.”

“What makes you so sure I’m wrong? Because you had one chat with the guy?”

“No, because I was almost wrong about you!” He tells her, “I nearly said that you were beyond help, remember? I can’t imagine what would’ve happened if I had refused to teach you to be a better person. And then I let Trevor and those other demons take you away on that train. You have no idea how much that guilt ate me up while you were gone.”

Jason nods; “Chidi’s right. While you were gone, he was a real bummer.”

“Thanks…pal.” He responds, awkwardly; “Look, please don’t think I am defending what Michael has done. But all the reasons you’re giving for him being beyond saving could apply to any of us and we’ve all managed to help each other.”

That was the flaw in Michael’s grand plan. He had hoped for all of them to do nothing but torture each other with their flaws but all he had ended up doing was giving them all the family they never had before.

All he had unwittingly done was help them to help each other.

“Pretty sure none of us have tortured people before.” Eleanor counters, to which Tahani nods. Jason looks more unsure than she expected.

“No, but we did horrible things to people we cared about and others without realising why what we were doing is wrong. Michael said he hadn’t realised how unjust the point system was before you started giving him lessons, maybe he’s learning.”

“No, he’s not, dude! You heard him back there, as soon as we’re gone and he gets a new job, he’s going to go back to torturing some other poor saps! He’s learned nothing!”

The train jolts, screeching and then rushing to an emergency stop on the tracks.

Eleanor and Chidi grab onto each other, Chidi grabbing onto the seat, so they don’t fall onto their faces. Catching her breath, Eleanor looks out the window. The land outside is a barren wasteland.

“Have we arrived? Is this Mindy’s?” Tahani asks, not a hair out of place despite the stop ruffling all the others.

Janet responds; “No, not yet…We’re still technically in the neighborhood. Probably just a glitch.”

There’s a trembling in her voice that is barely noticeable. Eleanor picks up on it.

“Janet? Is something wrong?” She asks.

The not-robot gives a strange hum, keeping her perfect smile on her face, hands clasped in front of her.

“That wasn’t a no. We know you can’t lie, babe. Tell us what’s up. Please.”

Janet looks oddly anxious as she recognises how everyone had their eyes on her now. It reminds Eleanor of their evening drinks together on the patio, the last perfect day before she found out the truth and it tore her world apart, when her and Janet had talked about Jason. About Michael.

“What Michael said about getting a new neighborhood,” she starts to explain; “It doesn’t hold up with my knowledge of Bad Place work protocol. The fact that Michael was able to get one chance to reset everything once is a rarity. But their bosses are usually not so…forgiving of failures.”

“I thought that was odd as well.” Tahani interjects, deep in contemplation; “Do you remember what he told us about how he was to be Retired when he thought he was what caused the sink hole? That always sounded odd, that the Good Place would inflict such a cruel punishment.”

“They don’t. Fun Fact, Retirement is a real punishment.” Janet informs them; “The immortal’s essence is scooped out with a hot ladle and dropped to burn for eternity on a thousand suns. But it’s not inflicted by the Good Place HQ to its workers. They actually get a pretty fair severance pay of slippers and a muffin basket.”

Retirement is a cruel and unusual punishment. That definitely didn’t sound off base for the Good Place. But it did sound on the money for Michael’s real bosses.

Eleanor feels a chill go down her spine.

“Janet.” She moves close to her; “When Michael’s boss finds out we’re all gone…will he be Retired? For real this time?”

The beautiful mainframe looks pained as Eleanor says the words. She nods.

Eleanor’s stomach drops. Motherforker.

“Turn the train around! Now!”

*

Michael starts to walk away, walk away from those annoying humans who tore his world apart, for good. Chidi finally leaves him alone and goes back inside.

There’s barely a minute of peace before he hears the door open again.

Eleanor. Always Eleanor.

She stops him, berates him for daring to worry about her, thinking it’s all just another part of his great con. In another time, only a year ago even, it would have most likely been the case. He doesn’t try to reassure her that he’s telling the truth.

All that matters is making sure she and the others all get far away from here.

“I would have stayed with you forever.” She tells him, her hard shell cracking for a split second.

Fork.

What is she trying to do to him?

It’s a little easier when she covers her emotion with her sexuality, sliding up close to him, teasing him. He allows it to happen, as far as she wants to take it, letting her get it out of the system. One last twist of the knife.

Michael looks down at her, as close as he will ever get to be with her again. He can smell her. She’s recently showered, her skin fragrant with some intense herbal shower gel Tahani has in her bathroom. And now she’s showing him her neck. Damn, he misses putting his lips on that neck. He misses caressing it, massaging it, his hand moving down to rub her shoulders after they’ve worn each other out. What he’d give to touch it now. One last time.

The closest he moves his hand is to her hair. She’s cut it short again, probably to make a point. Does she expect him to be mad? She would be beautiful to him even if she was bald, though he doubts even she could pull that off. She could have cut her hair at any time if she wanted. She was always free to do anything. She was never his prisoner…

Well. Not as far as being with him at the beach house was concerned.

She continues to mock him and he drinks in every word, sealing this image of her in his memory. She doesn’t realise that she’s giving him the best Retirement present he could hope for; seeing Eleanor Shellstrop at her most brave, most confident, confronting an immortal demon without the slightest tremble of fear. She knows what he’s capable of, what he could do to her if he wanted, and there she continues to stand.

Michael doesn’t think he’s loved her more than he does right now. It’s the perfect moment to say goodbye.

And he does.

*

“Michael!” Eleanor shouts as she enters his foyer and marches herself into his office, her friends following behind her.

As she feared, there’s no sign of the Architect anywhere. Her heart has been pounding since Janet turned the train around. She immediately begins rummaging through the drawers in his desk for clues on what he might be up to.

She can’t believe that idiot lied to her again. He’d swore that he would never…

Can’t focus on that right now, Shellstrop. She shouldn’t be expecting a demon to keep a promise.

“Seriously, guys, you don’t need to be here. You’re free to all go to Mindy’s.” She tells the rest of the group as they follow her lead, looking around Michael’s office.

“We go together or we don’t go at all. That is what we agreed.” Tahani reminds her.

Jason huffs; “I wish I listened to things before I agree to them. Me and Janet could’ve been figuring out how to have sex by now.”

“Ew. But I do appreciate the sacrifice, bro.” Eleanor says to the DJ.

All of the papers in the files are like the ones she saw in Michael’s office back at the beach house. All filled with symbols and an unknown language that mean nothing to her. She regrets not asking him to teach her how to read this instead of sharing his newfound knowledge of origami, which she’s already forgotten.

“What is all this stuff?” Chidi stares at the glass cabinets filled with random junk at the back of the room.

“Oh, that’s his collection of human objects. He told me the story behind each one. Except the paperclips. He just thinks they’re neat.” Eleanor explains, her heart aching a little when she spots the Minion plushie staring at her.

Their first date.

Janet points to the spoon; “That’s from when I got him to try frozen yoghurt. We almost went with pudding.”

“Aww man, I love pudding.” Jason moans, to which Janet immediately gives him some. It wasn’t as if he was aware why they were searching the place anyway.

“Look, he kept the head off the pinata I made of him…God, I can see how terrifying it looks now.” Tahani cringes.

While the four of them look around, Janet stands at the window, silently scanning for Michael’s presence in the vicinity. Eleanor isn’t sure what she plans to do when they find him. Slap him. Punch him. Kiss him. Slap him again, maybe.

No. Talk it out, as Chidi says. Stupid, always right Chidi.

“Weird that he has a photo of his own bracelet. Kinda makes me wanna take a photo of my favorite Jaguars sneaker.” Jason comments, chocolate around his lips, reaching inside the cabinet.

That catches Eleanor’s attention. She plucks the small photo from his hand.

The image shifts in her touch, changing to the selfie of her and Michael kissing on their last real date together. The final moment she can remember feeling genuine bliss. She looks to Jason, who has no reaction, neither does Tahani who catches a glance. Neither of them see it. It's a moment in time only privvy to the ones in the photo. 

Did he plan for her to find this?

He wanted to make sure they left, that was why he didn’t tell them he was being Retired. Even if he thought Eleanor no longer cared, he surely knew Chidi would never be able to leave someone behind to die, even his worst enemy. If he hadn’t come here to hand himself in then he must have gone somewhere else to…She’s not sure.

Wait for his bosses to come for him? If that is the case then, knowing what a sap Michael is, he’d wait somewhere that meant something special to him.

“I know where he’s gone…” Eleanor says as the light bulb shines in her head. It should have been obvious.

She goes to leave the office. Then she returns.

“Janet, just to check-.”

“My scan is complete. Michael is at the beach.” The mainframe confirms.

Eleanor sighs; “Oh, thank God, I was gonna say we go to the mountain. That would've been way off.”

*

Once again, they’re on a train. Eleanor is starting to feel as though she’s been on more moving platforms than still ones and each temporary home is just a stop on one long, economy class ride.

“What do you plan to say to Michael when we find him?” Chidi asks her, seeing her hands fidget in her lap.

“No idea,” Eleanor responds; “I guess let him know that we’re not gonna leave him to die and if he thinks this is some big, romantic gesture, it’s ridiculous. It doesn’t change anything between us. I’m still mad at the blaster, but it doesn’t mean I want him to suffer.”

“You have every right to be angry and to not want to be with him again.” Chidi affirms for her; “I just didn’t want you to let your hurt cloud your judgement and do something you’d regret forever.”

She takes a breath, her fury cooling off a little. Seeing those objects in Michael’s office had resurfaced a lot of the feelings she’d been trying to bury ever since she arrived back in the neighborhood. She could admit that it didn’t make sense for Michael to keep all that stuff unless it was important to him. Maybe the doofus himself hadn’t realised what the emotions that stuff brought up was until recently. Chidi is right. Whatever Michael has done, whatever he is, she honestly doesn’t believe he deserves the fate of Retirement.

If there’s a chance, the smallest chance, he’s capable of changing then the very least she can do is offer it to him. The rest is all in his court.

Eleanor smiles at her friend.

“Thanks, man. You’re always saving me.” She gives him a playful punch in the arm and he winces. Wow, she didn’t even hit him that hard.

She turns to look at her friends, sat down in close-knit rows on the carriage.

“Guys, again, thanks so much for sticking with me through this.” She says to them, sincerely grateful, “But when we get there, I really need to talk to Michael alone. You can all chill out in the beach house, if you want, while the two of us talk outside. Jason, there’s a PS6 hooked up to the tv.”

“Sweet! I can play next next gen GTA!” He cheers.

“Oh, what fun.” Tahani feigns her enthusiasm.

Eleanor leans in close to whisper to her; “Sorry, babe, I would just prefer him and Janet not trying to have sex in my old room.”

Tahani gives her a nod as if to ‘say no more’.

It feels weird going back, even though she’s only been away for a couple of days. Strangely, she had a similar but slightly different feeling of anxiety in her gut as before. As if she was going home again. When they step off the train, she can already smell the salt in the air, bringing back so many memories of the past year. How many times she had sat in the sand and relished the sunlight on her face after so long being locked away in the dark. Breathing in the fresh breeze instead of the recycled coppery scent of her own blood. She remembers swimming in that salt-less ocean, relearning to walk, Michael’s arms catching her and holding her close. He’d been so proud of her that day. She’d kissed him on the cheek for the first time and watched him blink, genuinely surprised, through the tears in his eyes.

She takes a breath, those blue eyes a picture-perfect image in her head. She’d seen so many emotions, clear as day, behind those glasses, all for her. Her instincts told her they had all been real or else she would never have fallen for them in the first place. Maybe he was simply that good an actor. Or maybe, just maybe…God damn it.

Eleanor walks off the platform, deciding against giving her friends the full tour. ‘And right here is where I stabbed Michael. And over here is where I made Michael think he’d pulled my arm off’. They follow close behind her.

As they round the corner and come into view of the beach house, Eleanor stands dead still.

“Holy shirt.” She whispers

The house. Her and Michael’s little house.

It’s nothing but a ruin. A black, burned out, crumbling carcass of a building.

“My God, Eleanor, I was hardly expecting Jeff Bezos’ tenth villa in Miami, but I thought it would be a little better than this.” Tahani quips, “Maybe his third villa in Cuba, at least.”

Eleanor shakes off the comment and runs towards the site. It twists her up inside to see the place where she had found herself again, found love, has been turned into a smoking ruin. The closer she gets, she can just about make out the structure of where the living room and kitchen was, next to her bedroom, with Michael’s office on the other side. Her bath and the cabinets remain, but little else.

It all seems smaller, looking in from the other side of the collapsed walls. There doesn’t seem to be any evidence of destruction anywhere else. Even the chairs on the patio are mostly in tack, bar a few grey smears of ash.

“Are you okay?” Chidi asks her, no doubt seeing the color drain from her tanned face.

No. No, she’s not.

Suddenly she has a terrible feeling that they made a huge mistake deciding to come here.

“Michael!” She ignores Chidi and starts running around the side of the remains of the house; “Michael, where the fork are you?”

She needs to know if he’s the one who did this. Or is he in danger? Was he inside when it happened? Can fire hurt a demon the same way her knife did, when it burned too intensely?

Jason steps around, surprisingly careful, gingerly touching the blackened doorframe.

“Yo, dawg, as someone who’s started a lot of fires in their life,” He speaks with expertise; “This don’t look new. I’d say it happened a couple days ago. I’d love to see the Molotov that took this down!”

A couple of days. The night that Eleanor left, then, or near enough.

She feels a wave of relief that, if the house burned down before she last saw Michael, it meant he was likely to be unharmed. The relief is then replaced with resentment that the blaster was most likely the one who did this. He had set fire to their home and, judging by the position of the chairs, had sat back and watched it burn away to nothing. True, igniting your ex’s belongings was yet another Classic Shellstrop move, but she had never gone as far as to burn a whole house down. She realises the resentment is partly envy that she hadn’t thought of it first.

Oh well. She got to stab him. She supposed that made them even.

“He came here knowing there was nothing left? I don’t understand. None of this is making sense.” Eleanor says, aloud, looking down the beach for any sign of the Architect.

She turns back to her friends.

“Something is very wrong, you guys. I say we get back on the train.” She tells them, her blood running cold.

They already looked unnerved by what has greeted them enough as it is. They don’t need more convincing. With a nod, they all turn around in time to see their train moving away.

“Uh, Janet.” She looks at the not-lady; “We’re not on the train yet, babe. Mind bringing it back?”

“That’s not me! I’m not making it leave!” Janet almost sounds as though she’s panicking.

But only Janets can get the trains in the afterlife to move, so Michael said.

“If you’re not the conductor then who-.” Chidi begins to ask before the answer walks its way around the corner.

“Oh, that would be my Bad Janet.” The demon in a black jacket appears with a swagger; “Didn’t want you guys leaving so soon before we had a chance to party.”

Pure, unfiltered terror threatens to swallow Eleanor whole at the sight of him.

She can’t help but back up a step, feeling Chidi and Tahani each take one of her hands, Jason and Janet stood behind her, also backing up a little. This was the last face any of them had expected or wanted to see here or ever again.

“Trevor.” Eleanor struggles to say his name.

At one time it had been impossible to get her to say it, as if uttering his name again would summon him, like Voldemort. Once she’d gotten over that, she enjoyed cursing his name as loud as she could, finding the spark of courage inside her again.

Now, facing him again after a year, she feels that spark begin to flicker, her knees buckling.

“Janet! Is that another stupid simulation?” Eleanor asks her, desperate to be told yes.

Janet shakes her head; “No. I’m afraid that really is Trevor the demon.”

He tilts his head and gestures his hands to his chest; “It’s really me, doll face. I can see how much you’ve missed me. Then again, I did promise to get you back, didn’t I.”

Eleanor’s chest grows tight again, feeling the rise of a panic attack. She had convinced herself that she was back to normal, that she was strong again, could hold her own against any demon. Right now, she’s never felt more vulnerable.

Damn it. She wishes Michael was here. Where is that demonic deckhead when she finally needs him?!

As Trevor takes another step forward, the five of them move back. They’re all clustered, protectively, around Eleanor. As frightened as she is to face her abuser again, she also feels overwhelmed by their eagerness to not let him near her, when they could easily run for their lives if they didn’t care. If they weren’t her friends.

“You’re not getting anyone, dude. Just back off.” Chidi tries to threaten, his voice calm but firm.

“Oh, I think I’ll be taking all of you, it seems. Michael’s little gambit has clearly gone down the shirter so someone’s gotta give you dumb-dumbs a home.” Trevor gladly taunts, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you all stay together. I’ll stuff you in a little trunk, it’ll be like a game of sardines, except all your flesh will be mashed together.”

“What are you doing here? Where is Michael?!” Tahani asks, squeezing Eleanor’s hand.

She can feel her friend’s fear, those long brown fingers trembling against hers, but Eleanor is impressed with how she continues to stand her ground.

“I just told you, Posh Spice, I’m here to collect you all! Mikey is the one who called me here, said you would all be trying to hide from him but, bad luck losers, there’s no hiding from eternal damnation.”

“You’re lying!” Finally, Eleanor finds her voice; “Michael would never do that!”

Trevor cocks his head at her; “Wow, how badly did I scramble that brain of yours again, sweet cheeks? Just because you got your tongue back doesn’t make you a smarty pants. Clearly you’re as dumb as ever. Still pretty though. Where’s my smile, babe? You know how much I wanna see that smile.”

Eleanor almost moves forward, wanting to punch him, wanting to rip his mouth open with her own two hands and give him a permanent ‘smile’ of his own. Her friends grip is iron tight.

Trevor puts his hands up; “Oh! My kitty cat grew her claws back! Nice. Can’t wait to cut ‘em out again. It’ll be fun breaking all of you in. Mmm hmm.” He licks his lips as he eyes the other three humans around Eleanor.

She bites down hard on her lip. No. No forking way is Trevor getting his hands on any of them.

“You can’t touch us here. You’re such an idiot, sending off your own Bad Janet. We still have ours, genius, and she won’t let you touch us!” Eleanor boasts.

“Huh, is that so? Hey, Good Janet, come here.” Trevor orders.

Before anyone can say otherwise, Janet bings away from behind Eleanor and to Trevor’s side.

The group all cry her name as Trevor slaps a pair of shiny, blue handcuffs on her wrists. Janet stumbles back, her shoulders hunched, knees wobbling.

“Janet!” Jason calls out, worried.

Her eyes look heavy, almost doped, as she looks up to her boyfriend and smiles, dizzily.

“What did you do to her, ash hole?!” Eleanor growls at Trevor.

“Just a little pair of magnet-cuffs, to disrupt her powers. Don’t want her interfering now, do we. I’d like to have some fun with you all before I call Bad Janet to bring the train back.” He goes towards them again.

Janet or no Janet, the four of them stick close together.

“How the hell did you know we would be here?! We were on our way to Mindy’s, there’s no way you could have anticipated that we would come here!” Chidi dares to argue, clearly confused as much as he is scared.

Trevor shrugs, carelessly; “You’re right. I didn’t.”

“But I did.”

They turn around to see Michael stood behind them, a victorious smile on his face. Whatever brief glimmer of joy that Eleanor feels is quickly snuffed out when she reads the devious glint in his eye and she realises with horror that the four of them are sandwiched between two demons. Janet-less. Completely at their lack of mercy.

Eleanor’s heart shatters as she quickly welcomes the truth. Michael has played her again. Blaster.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double the length for penultimate chapter!

Fool her once, shame on him. Fool her twice, shame on her. Fool her three times…she must be a forking idiot.

Michael stands, smugly, before them, hands in his pockets and his head slightly cocked.

“I’m so glad you all decided to come! I was only expecting Eleanor but it’ll make this so much easier now that the gang is all here!” He grins, clasping his hands together, his glee rather sickening.

It’s as if he’s speaking as the chipper Architect again, so happy for his resident torture victims.

Eleanor’s jaw clenches; “You knew I would come? How?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious? I knew you wouldn’t be able to go through with running off to Mindy’s and leaving me behind after I fed you all that garbage about falling in love with you!” He taunts her.

Trevor laughs behind them.

“Daaamn, Mikey! I didn’t think you had it in you. You really played our little bench like that?” He moves around, closer to Michael.

“Sure did, bud. You might’ve screwed her body but I screwed her heart. And also her body.” He snickers and the two demons share a high five.

Eleanor feels the rage burn inside her chest. She’s never hated anyone more than the two creatures standing before her right now. She can feel her hands shaking, before she realises that it’s not hers that are trembling – it’s her friends. They’re both fuming on her behalf. She looks to Tahani, seeing tears of contempt in those bright browns, then to Chidi whose glasses are steaming up. She can’t see Jason but she would put money on him not being the best of moods, especially with what they just did to Janet.

It’s four on two. Maybe they have a chance. She knows Michael is stronger than the older human body he inhabits. He had no trouble carrying her around for months. And Trevor looked slim and lithe but could knock her teeth out with a single punch. Still, it was worth trying if need be. They wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“You knew we would find out that you would be Retired? You knew we would feel bad and want to come back to help you?” Chidi utters, clearly feeling as betrayed and disappointed in himself as Eleanor does right now.

“Er, doi! Of course, I did! Oh, you’re all such bleeding hearts, it’s adorable really!”

“You mean disgusting.” Trevor corrects with a grin.

“What did I say?” Michael jokes, the two of them continuing to laugh as if it was the greatest prank ever.

Something still didn’t sit quite right with Eleanor. As devastated as she feels, there’s a voice in her head which sounds a lot like her friend at her side, telling her to take a breath. Think. Don’t let her emotions cloud her most vital skill; seeing through any bullshirt.

“You knew we would go back to your office? And find a clue that led us back here?” She leads, keeping her voice low, her eyes on Michael; “That picture in the cabinet, you knew I would find it?”

He blinks at her, showing his teeth.

“Absolutely! I thought I’d leave you one last puzzle, Eleanor. That little secret message in the portrait. I knew you’d be clever enough to figure it out. To see the truth.” He says, slow and slimey.

The truth?

Oh. Oh, fork.

No message. No secret language. But yes. She had seen the truth.

She had been the only one who could.

Eleanor smirks. She squeezes her friends hands and steels herself.

“All right, Mikey. Trevs.” She glares at the two of them; “We fell into your trap. Now what? We just gonna stand here telling jokes? Because I’ve got two. They’re standing right in front of me.”

She lets go of Chidi’s hand and holds hers up, letting Jason high five her from behind.

Janet gives a drunken clap from where she’s collapsed on the patio behind them.

“Very funny, Shellstrop. Big talk for a girl who is about to be sent back to Hell with her best buds for eternity.” Trevor sneers; “If you were as smart as you think, you’d try to run. Give me and Mikey some sport to hunt while we wait for Bad Janet to get back here.”

“Oh, I’m sure they know they wouldn’t get far. Why delay the inevitable, ey fellahs?” Michael says as he starts to circle them. He puts a hand on Jason’s shoulder; “Why not stay here and raise some hellfire before you get the real thing?”

The Florida dude shrugs him off with disgust.

“Oooh, what are you thinking, Mike?” Trevor asks, looking rather hungrily at Tahani more than Eleanor likes.

It makes sense that he would be bored with her after breaking her in. He’s got his sights on the fresh piece of meat. Over her extra dead body.

“Well, I was just telling Vicky the other day about that Desert Neighborhood? They’ve got some great ideas going on there! How about we bury these four idiots up their necks in sand and I turn the heat from the sun up? We can watch them roast like potatoes!” Michael chortles.

“Oh, that is tempting! And I can stuff the Professor’s mouth with my deck while his skin blisters! Nice!” Trevor winks at Chidi.

Eleanor gives his hand a tug. Stay strong, guys.

“Do your worst, demon scum.” She throws at them; “We’re not running from you.”

“We’re not?” Jason doesn’t sound so sure.

“No, we’re not! Whatever they’ve got planned for us, they should just get the fork on with it. C’mon. We’re getting bored.” Eleanor glowers.

The two demons give another evil chuckle and then share a nod.

“Let’s not keep the lady waiting! Oh and by lady, I mean gross slut.” Trevor mocks, advancing on them; “Come with us then, dumb-dumbs, let’s go play in the sand.”

Michael steps forward and grabs Chidi roughly by the wrist. His other hand wraps tight around Eleanor’s, nearly crushing her fingers.

She winces but doesn’t resist, her brow furrowed, eyes boring into his.

God, she hopes she’s got this right…

“Hey, Mikey, c’mon!” Trevor whines; “You’ve had Shellstrop to yourself for long enough! Me and her need some time to reconnect, y’know what I mean?” He’s already got Jason in a hold, arm twisted behind his back.

It’s not as if they’re not all trying to fight back. Their human strength is nothing compared to a demon’s.

She feels the slightest tightening of Michael’s hand on hers. Just for a second.

Michael looks at Eleanor, his eyes detached and cold. He scoffs; “Sure thing, buddy. Bench means nothing to me. Do what you want with her.”

The words cut deeper than Eleanor ever thought they could as he carelessly tosses her across into Trevor’s waiting hold. The two demons begin frog-marching the four of them down the patio steps and onto the sand, the tide starting to move in. She can hear Chidi muttering about how he was wrong to believe Michael deserved a second chance and the Architect tells him to pipe down. Tahani is struggling not to cry. Jason keeps glancing back over his shoulder to Janet.

Trevor tugs Eleanor by her waist to his side and presses his lips to her ear.

“Miss me, El dog?” He whispers, hot breath on her face.

“Like a hole in the head, you shirt-eater.” Eleanor hisses at him.

He giggles, fingers digging into her side; “I’ll be sure to give you one once I have you back in your cell.”

“I’d watch that one, Trevor. She already shivved me once! She’s a sneaky little so-and-so.” Michael mocks, grabbing Tahani with Chidi for his amusement instead; “I wouldn’t dare turn your back on her.”

Eleanor frowns at that. She’s about to bite back that she stabbed him in the front, not the…

Ah.

Trevor laughs and turns to face her. He shoves Jason onto the ground, almost twisting his wrist in the process. Eleanor watches him wince in pain on the sand, resisting the urge to go to him.

“Is that right, hoe-bag? You managed to get a knife in my pal Mikey?” He grins, dark eyes shining; “Seems you’ve really forgotten those lessons. You didn’t even come to greet me on hands and knees like a good slut should. Tut tut,” he touches her hair, curling a lock around his finger; “What was lesson number one? Tell me.”

Eleanor’s chest heaves as she stares up at him. No. She won’t say it.

He tugs on her hair, threatening to rip it out; “LESSON ONE! SAY IT!”

A tiny cry escapes her lips before she can stop it.

_I am no one. I am nothing. I am just your hole._

She looks over his shoulder, seeing the pain and sorrow on Tahani and Chidi’s face, while Michael keeps his wicked smile plastered on. He leans to the side, hissing under his breath into Chidi’s ear and then to Tahani, looking as though he’s taunting them in his own way. Both of them frown.

Eleanor looks back at Trevor, seeing his eyes turn wild, like an animal. She juts her chin at him, ignoring the small strands of hair he pulls out.

She takes a breath;

“Lesson one…You are nothing. You are no one. And I…am Eleanor Forking Shellstrop!”

Trevor looks bewildered. He has no idea how long she’s been here, how many months it took to find her fire again, to break out of the shell he had stuffed her into. He thinks she’s undone his conditioning and abuse in the space of a fortnight. It clearly gets to him, his cold glare twisting into a manic grin as he starts to laugh.

He moves his hand to her throat, fingers pressing down hard on her larynx. Eleanor struggles for air, to make a sound, as he lifts her off her feet. She barely hears Chidi shout her name as the blood rushes to her ears, hands moving up to fruitlessly claw at his grip.

Eleanor’s vision distorts, black spots blinking into view, shutting her out from the world.

“It seems we’re gonna have to start all over again, Elea-whore!” Trevor growls; “I think I’ll begin by twisting your head off your body and using it as a volley ball. I’ll stretch your torso across to make a net and tie it between your severed legs as posts. How does that sound, huh? You feel brave now, you skanky little c-!”

His hand releases her as a loud thump strikes the back of his head, knocking the demon out cold.

Eleanor staggers as she lands on her feet, one hand out to steady herself from falling over, while the other reaches up to her aching throat. Fork, that stings! She wheezes, heavily, her eyesight slowly blinking back into clarity.

She sees – blink – Trevor lying face down in the sand – blink – Jason getting to his feet, rubbing his wrist – blink – Chidi and Tahani staring at her – blink – Michael’s fist shaking.

She looks at him. At Michael.

He stands over Trevor, Tahani and Chidi having been let go, and looks up at Eleanor. The cruel, sadistic joy on his face has dissolved. His mouth hangs open, his eyes flashing with anger before quickly crumbling into something else. Something devastating. He lets out a gasp and rushes over to her.

Eleanor resists the urge to back away, letting him move in close, his hands ghosting over her as he looks down in fright.

“You okay?” He whispers, panic rushing his words.

She frowns, her voice painfully hoarse; “Michael, what the fork-?”

“ARE YOU OKAY?!” He demands to know, his hands firmly on her shoulders.

She catches her breath, looking into his eyes, seeing the tears forming behind his glasses. He’s glancing at her neck, no doubt spotting the bruises she’s sure are forming from where Trevor’s hand had been, so tight she can almost still feel him there. It forking hurts. But she’s still standing.

She nods.

Michael sighs, relieved, fingers brushing an inch away from her neck.

“I can’t heel you…Not while Janet’s powers are weakened. All my magic comes through her, I’m sorry!” He says, remorseful.

“Michael, I’m okay! I swear!” She assures him, reaching to touch his hands, too distracted by the feelings evident on the big idiot’s face to notice the pain in her throat; “You…you really do care about me?”

“Of course, I forking do!” The tears run down his cheeks as he cradles her head in his hands; “When I saw your train pull up, damn it, I was so scared! You weren’t supposed to be here!”

“Wait!” Chidi speaks up, “You didn’t know we were coming? What was all that about a secret message?”

“There was no message in the photo!” Eleanor cuts in, “He was just bluffing for Trevor’s sake. Right?”

Michael looks at her with awe. He hadn’t been certain if she’d understood his meaning, clearly. There was no clue or directions in the picture she’d found. Only the ‘truth’.

The two of them together, in love. That was the truth.

“Oh, Eleanor…I am so sorry.” He breaks again, reaching out to her, “I’m sorry I let him touch you! I’m sorry I had to make you think that I’d…I had to sell it to him, to make sure he believed it!”

“Dude! I get it! It’s okay, chill.” Eleanor takes his quivering hands in hers.

It had been tough to keep it all together once she started to figure it out. When Trevor had put his filthy hands on her friends, when Michael had to pretend he was ready to hurt them, it had been difficult for to stay quiet and bide her time. She knew, in her gut, that Michael hadn’t planned for them to arrive here. She knew there was no way in any Bad Place he would let Trevor take them. All she needed was to provide him with the right moment.

Bit of a shame it took her nearly having her windpipe crushed. But it was better than whatever sick torture the unconscious demon on the floor had in mind for them all.

Michael looks at her and then around, at her friends, his other humans.

“Quick! Now! You all have to leave!” He beckons them away from where Trevor’s body lays, his hand taking Tahani’s briefly and then pulling Jason and Chidi.

“No, wait! Why was Trevor here with you in the first place?” Eleanor demands to know.

“It’s none of your concern, just go!” Michael tells them; “Take Janet and get as far away as you can!”

“We don’t have a train! Where are we supposed to go?” Tahani asks.

“It doesn’t matter! Jason, you know how to pick a lock right?”

“Dude, it was my major!” Jason says with pride.

“That’s my guy, here.” Michael takes off a link from his paperclip bracelet and hands it to him; “It might take you a few tries but do what you can to pick Janet’s handcuffs. Once she’s free, she’ll be able to summon a car or balloon or whatever you need to get away.”

Jason takes the piece of metal and rushes over to pick up his intoxicated girlfriend from the patio.

Eleanor grips Michael’s sleeve; “You’re coming with us!”

He violently shakes her off.

“No, Eleanor, I’m not! You’re not even supposed to be here! You’re supposed to be at Mindy’s, safe and sound!” He looks at her, intently; “Why the fork did you come back?!”

“Because we weren’t going to let you be Retired, idiot!” She shoots back, the obvious answer.

“Why not?! You know what I’ve done! You know what I deserve!” He yells down at her, red with self-loathing; “Why would you think I was worth saving?!”

Eleanor stares at him, a small, ironic laugh leaving her lips.

“Why do you think, genius?”

He blinks at her. She’s left him speechless once again.

He bites his lip and shakes his head; “Oh, Eleanor Shellstrop, you…”

“I know,” She laughs, sniffling; “Dumb little human, right?”

He laughs with her, both on the verge of tears, moving close to each other. He puts a hand to her face, his thumb brushing away a loose tear. She feels so relieved, in that moment, to have him by her side again, for the two of them to be on the same team. To know that he has her back. It’s enough to want to kiss his lips right there, in front of her shellshocked friends.

The budding tension is broken by a cold, mocking laugh.

Chidi backs up, closer to them; “Er, guys…”

He grips Tahani’s hand, while she reaches for Eleanor’s. Michael moves to stand in front of them all, facing the demon with a dent in the back of his head, getting up off the sand and to his feet.

Trevor continues to laugh as he turns to them.

“Oh, Mikey, Mikey, Mikey. You dirty traitor. I hope her pretty ash was worth it.”

*

Eleanor had a habit of making choices that Michael couldn’t predict. Just when he thinks that he has her figured out, she turns around and surprises him in both the most shocking and wonderful ways she can. This was no exception.

He hadn’t counted on her discovering that his punishment for losing his humans would be the eternal shriek that was Retirement. And even if she had, if Janet somehow let it slip, then he was certain that she hated him enough to want to leave him to burn for the rest of time on those thousand suns. She would stand up for her friends, reveal herself to protect Chidi, but never come back for a worthless demon like him, surely. Not after how he betrayed her.

She was never supposed to be here. This was to be Michael’s final project before the Bad Place guards came to find him. And he had been determined to do it alone. He didn’t want Eleanor anywhere near that disgusting pervert again.

Michael knew that the things he’d done, the pain he’d caused and the horrors he’d inflicted, could never be undone. He could not stop the injustice his kind inflicted every moment of every Bearimy.

But maybe, before they obliterate him, he could do one good thing in his existence.

He could stop one other twisted monster from hurting another poor soul. If he was able to succeed in doing that, and in making sure that at least four humans were safe from harm, it would not come close to balancing the scales of what he’d done. But it would be better than going to meet his maker with nothing but black in his ledger. He could gladly go to his fate knowing he had left just a little ray of light in the universe. He would know that Eleanor was okay.

He’d summoned Trevor to meet him here, claiming he was going to hand the humans over to him in exchange for a good word to try to get him off the hook with Shawn. Trevor had arrived with two Bad Janets, as most Bad Place trains came with. He convinced him to get one to take the train back. The other Michael was ready to marbleize before another train pulled up on the platform.

Eleanor. Damn it all, she really does ruin everything. A few more minutes and he would have done the deed.

He had no choice. He had to slip back into the shoes of the calculating puppet-master. He got Trevor to use his extra Bad Janet to get rid of the train, hating that it meant taking away their transportation, but it meant leaving Trevor without a conduit for his own powers. And then the humans had stepped off and Michael could do nothing but hold that evil smirk on his face as he watched Eleanor’s face crumble with betrayal.

But, oh, it hadn’t taken her long at all. She was brilliant, like that. There was a reason he loved her.

She’d seen the photo. He’d never intended her to, but it was the hint he needed to let her know the truth that he had revealed to her on that mountain.

_I love you._

She had known. She had played along. And, stupid Michael, he’d let Trevor put his hands on her again. It had been more than enough fuel for Michael to punch the demon’s skull so hard that it caved in. Forking ash-hole. How dare he?! He’d had to stand back, whispering for Tahani and Chidi to play it cool, as well as himself.

Some dudes never know when to quit it seems, Michael thinks, shielding three of his humans as they watch Trevor stand before them. Jason continues to try to pick Janet’s cuffs on the patio.

“Seriously, dude?! You’re not joshing me, you’re actually doing this?!” Trevor asks, unsure if it’s some prank.

“Yes! I am serious!” He tells his former colleague; “I’m not playing games anymore, Trevor. What the Bad Place does, what we’ve been taught to do, it’s not fair and it’s not right! Nothing these humans or any of them have done could make them deserve the torture we give them! Hasn’t it ever occurred to you, once, how unfair the point system is? Did you never stop to-?”

“Okay, man, I’m gonna stop you right there, ‘cause I see where you’re going with this.” Trevor puts his hand up; “You’re gonna try to convince me that the Bad Place is corrupt and there’s some big injustice going on, right? Well, guess what. I don’t give a shirt!”

Chidi frowns behind Michael; “You mean you already know about it?”

“Of course I do, egg-head! Half the employees in the Bad Place have worked this shirt out aeons ago! It’s only dweebs like Mikey here who are under some delusion that it’s all for some ‘cosmic balance’ bullcrab!” Trevor rolls his eyes; “It’s the Bad Place! Hell, get it?! It’s supposed to be corrupt! It’s supposed to be forking Evil!”

Michael feels as though he’s been stabbed in the gut again. His hand trembles.

“You knew?” He whispers, “…Shawn knew?”

“Duuh! Every Senior Manager knows what’s up! We’re not a bunch of stupid, naïve angels, for Beaver’s sake!”

No. No, this couldn’t be. It was one thing for Michael to think that every demon was like him, under the delusion that what they had always done was the right thing, that they all simply didn’t know any better. But this? To know that those he had looked up to and respected had knowingly lied to him for centuries…? Taught him how to cause so much misery, so much agony, when they were all aware how unnecessary and unfair it was? It made him feel sick. He felt it rise in his essence, waiting to spill out.

He shudders as the utter betrayal shakes him to his core. The only thing that calms him is a hand on the small of his back. Michael takes a breath, feeling her behind him, supporting him.

Eleanor…

He looks up at Trevor, “If you all know it’s wrong then why the fork are we still doing it?”

“Because it’s fun, man!” The demon bursts into laughter.

Fun?

FUN?

His mind flashes back to a few moments ago, seeing the hand on Eleanor’s throat, squeezing the air from her body. He remembers all the nights he watched her thrash beneath her bedsheets, screaming and crying, unable to escape the torture despite no longer being in the cell. He remembers how he watched Tahani tear up at every hurtful jab he spoke to her, how Chidi cringed to the point of paralysis under his stress, how Jason’s light dimmed as he was forced to be silent. He remembers the way one woman wept her husband’s name when Michael pulled her ribs out, one by one. He remembers an old man begging for mercy as Michael scooped his eyes out with an ice cream spoon.

He remembers. He can’t stop. He sees them all. Every single face for the billion years, flashing like a strobe light, searing hot and loud in his head.

That was all…for fun?!

“Michael…” Eleanor’s hand moves to his upper arm. It pulls him back down to reality; “…It’s okay, bud. You didn’t know…”

“No, Eleanor. It’s not okay. It will never be okay.” He has no excuse. No justification.

He pulls the steak knife from his back pocket, one he’s kept on him since picking it up from the platform two nights ago after Eleanor dropped it. Their trusty demon shiv.

He advances towards Trevor.

“Woah, dude! You really wanna play this?” He puts his hands up as Michael gets in close.

“Yes. I do. You are not touching these humans or any others again.” He tells the sicko.

Trevor shrugs; “All right. Your Retirement.”

Michael goes in for a stab but Trevor dodges it, his skinny frame sliding out of the way. He swerves underneath his arm and aims a punch at Michael’s chest, knocking him off balance for a second, taking the moment to move past him.

He moves towards Eleanor, Chidi making an admirable attempt to block his path, before he’s pushed out of the way with a smack to the face, knocking his glasses off.

Eleanor tries to get away but Trevor grabs her by the hair, swinging her around and using her as a human shield, in time for Michael to regain his composure.

“Go on then, Mikey. Let’s see if you’re willing to go through your precious little whore here to stop me!” He taunts, twisting her arm back; “Was she good for you, huh? Did you like how I warmed her up for you?”

“Trevor, I swear…” Michael hisses, knife shaking in his grip.

He takes a deep sniff of Eleanor’s scalp; “Oh, still so sweet! I bet he didn’t compare to me, did he, baby doll? Were you thinking of me the whole time he was riding you?”

Eleanor grits her teeth and looks over to Michael. She shares an amused grin with him at the laughable suggestion. They both know that’s far from the truth. When they were together, there was nothing and no one but each other. It was all they needed. It was perfect.

“You wish, pencil deck.” She mocks, launching her foot back into his shin.

She takes the moment his grip loosens to turn around and knee him in the balls. Michael can’t help but let out a cheer. That’s his girl!

“Tahani!” He calls to the woman now standing in the perfect spot behind the demon.

He throws her the knife which she catches with impressive ease. And then, fencing pro that she is, she gets in a good lunge of the blade into Trevor’s back while he’s off balance. Michael gives her a clap. Another win for his humans!

Eleanor shoves Trevor to the sand and grabs the knife, pulling it out, then stabbing him again. She slices his face, no doubt repaying the smiles he forced on her, before digging the knife in him again.

And again.

And again.

“Uhm, Eleanor?” Chidi calls, fixing his glasses.

And again.

“Darling! Darling, stop!” Tahani attempts, cautious to get any closer as the goo begins to splurt from multiple wounds in the demon’s skin suit.

Again. Again. Again.

“ELEANOR!” Michael tries.

“What?!” She finally looks up, caked in blue demon essence from the messy ribbons of flesh below her.

“We think you got him.” He points out, blandly.

He knows that she needs this. She’s done more than earn this victory over him. But at this point she’s just creating mince that no one will want to eat.

Eleanor catches her breath, looking down at Trevor’s mutilated corpse. She climbs off him and pats some of the blue juice from her clothes. She looks a right state, her hair out of sorts, beads of sweat on her forehead. Michael moves over to her, reaching out with his handkerchief to clean some of her face. That gunk will start to irritate if it’s not washed off.

She looks at him and her eyes shine with gratitude. She thinks it’s over. He wishes he could confirm that for her. A rumble beneath their feet makes the smile fall from her face.

Trevor’s skin suit convulses on the ground. Michael tries to shoo Eleanor and the others away again.

He’d been expecting this.

“Jason! How’re we coming on those cuffs, bud!?” He calls to the DJ.

“They still won’t budge! The metal keeps snapping!” Jason calls from the patio, Janet bobbing her head beside him.

Michael throws him another paperclip.

“The rest of you, start running! Now!” He tells the three of them, “No arguments, go!”

Even Eleanor doesn’t try to fight him on it this time. She takes Chidi and Tahani’s hand and backs off with them, the thought probably having only just occurred to her what happens when you destroy a demon’s skin suit. Michael stands his ground. This is why the humans were not supposed to be here.

Too late now.

He watches as a gelatinous, red mass of bulbous flesh rises up from where Eleanor had been kneeling over Trevor’s prone form barely a minute ago. The fifteen-foot-tall monstrosity shakes off the remnants of the jacket, jeans and Dress Bench t-shirt along with his skin and hair. Three beady eyes look out from a bald head, no nose between them and the large, toothless fold for a mouth. Its movements are heavy as it flexes its hulking arms, its skin like wet putty.

Chidi stammers as they all stare up at the beast.

“Okay…What in the name of sweet reality is that thing?” He asks, sounding as though this is the thing to break his brain.

Michael just grins, unable to resist enjoying Chidi’s existential horror, just a little bit.

“Don’t you recognise our pal Trevor?” He asks.

“That’s Trevor?! Holy shirt!” Eleanor exclaims.

The creature, more commonly known in the Bad Place as a Sloth Monster, turns around to face them, towering over the humans and Michael. It lets out a chuckle that doesn’t come across quite as creepy as it did out of the good looking but twisted humanoid.

“What’s wrong, babe? Doesn’t this turn you on? I’m sure you can learn to love it.” Trevor mocks her, displaying two large tongues from his mouth. His voice is low, the words slower, lacking the sharp wit he had as a human.

Michael hears Eleanor cringe aloud, hanging back close with her friends.

“You really wanna do this fight bare-knuckled, Mikey? Sure thing!” Trevor pounds his giant fist down on the ground, aiming for the four of them.

Michael turns and shoves the humans back more.

“Guys! Scatter!” Eleanor suggests, cleverly. They’re a bigger target when clumped together.

Chidi’s instinct is to stay close to both women but he does as he’s told. He grabs some rocks and starts hurling them at the beast, only for them to bounce off his overly moist skin.

“Will you just take Eleanor and Tahani and go already?!” Michael shouts at the geek, as all he’s doing is amusing the Sloth Monster.

This would be a lot easier if none of them were here. His life would be a lot easier if he’d never met these damn humans in the first place.

Easier. But darker. Lost.

“C’mon, Trevor, I’m the one you wanna fight!” He shouts up at his fellow abomination; “Let’s go, just me and you! One on one! Demon versus demon! That’s if you’ve got the-!”

One powerful slam to the head shoves Michael into the sand, his ears ringing.

Distantly, he hears Eleanor shout his name.

Okay. Fork. That really did hurt, he thinks as he gets back up, only for Trevor to kick him so hard that he flips over, in the air, landing painfully against some rocks on the shore.

“HEY! CHUNKSTER!”

Michael squints, looking up.

A petite silhouette is standing between him and the hulking demon stomping towards him. Oh, no. What the fork is she doing now?

Is she trying to protect _him_?

“Yeah, I’m talking to you, Trevor, my boy.” Eleanor yells up at the beast towering over her small form; “So this is the real you, huh? You know what. It all makes sense now. What was it, could the other blobby demons not even wanna go near you? You had take the body of a good looking twink to get anything close to respect? Because look at you! You’re not scary! You’re not powerful! You’re just a big, stinking, gross pile of shirt! Doesn’t even look like you’ve got a penis there, or is it inverted inside all that flubber?! What a joke! You wanted me to feel like crab because that’s what you know you really are, every single day! Right?!”

“Eleanor, don’t antagonise the demon!” Chidi calls over from where he’s managed to make it to the steps of the patio with Tahani.

“Oh, I’m not scared of him, dude! Not anymore.” Eleanor laughs, plucky as ever, “He might have broken me once before but I’m still here. I’m still standing strong and, unlike this loser, I’m still a hot piece of ash! He can beat me down all he wants and I’ll just keep rising up, again and again and again! Because you know what, Trevor?!”

She steps closer, grinning up at the creature that had once been her worst nightmare. Her head barely meets his navel, yet she seems taller than he could ever be.

She waves her fingers, fearlessly, below his chin; “YA BASIC!”

Trevor responds with a brutal, gurgling roar and raises both his fists up high in preparation to hammer them both down towards Eleanor. Michael rushes forward to push her out the way, knowing he might not get there in time.

He catches a burning smell on the air and looks up in time to see a glint of glass and something on fire shooting through the air.

“BORTLES!” Jason cheers from the patio; “Eleanor, move!”

The Molotov cocktail hits Trevor’s gigantic head and explodes in a blaze of glass and flame, knocking him back onto his saggy backside. Michael reaches Eleanor and pulls her out the way from the falling shards and embers, throwing his jacket over her head and leading her towards the patio.

He can hear Tahani’s confusion about Jason’s mysterious arsenal from above; “How did you even make that? There’s nothing here!”

It wasn’t as if Michael had intended to leave one last bottle of whisky outside to survive the fire for Jason to use but he’d hoped his line about raining down hellfire would inspire the young man. If not then that he would just go with his first instinct to set something ablaze.

Michael leaves Eleanor on the step, his hands on her arms.

“What was that about?! Are you trying to get yourself flattened?” He asks her, hurriedly.

“I was trying to save you!” She protests, almost offended.

“You can’t fight him, Eleanor, okay?! You’re not gonna save anyone by throwing yourself in harms way! You’re too important to be broken again! And if you don’t care about how important you are to me, care about what you mean to them!” Michael points to her friends watching from the higher level, outside the remains of their beach house; “They need you! Help them! Got it?”

The lesson finally seems to dawn on her, going by the acceptance in her eyes, as she looks up at the other three plus Janet. She’s clearly torn as she looks back to him.

“Michael…”

He touches her face; “Trust me. Just one more time. I know what I am doing. Please. Let me do this one thing to put some good into the universe, ‘kay?”

Eleanor struggles, her hands reaching up to touch his, biting her lip. She nods, clearly conflicted.

But she’s willing to give him this.

“Kick his ash.” She whispers, her eyes hardening.

He gives her a smile; “You got it, Boss.”

Michael leaves her with his jacket as he goes back to where Trevor is recovering from the explosion, hunched over in the sand, padding out the flames still on his arm.

He dares to laugh; “Oh, don’t be such a baby! A demon who doesn’t like fire? You Sloths are such wusses.”

“What did I say about antagonising the demon?!” Chidi shouts from afar.

But that’s the whole point. Michael needs to get Trevor as riled up as possible. Hit as many nerves as he can in that great, hulking body of his.

Michael flips the knife in his hand and takes a slash at Trevor’s elbow.

The monster growls, spitting the foulest drops of saliva at him, before taking a swing. Michael leaps back, edging closer towards the water. Away from the beach house. Away from the humans.

“That’s it, lame-o! Come and get me! Or was Eleanor right on the money with you? That you’re nothing but a big old joke! Oh, I’d love for every poor soul that you tormented to get to see you as you are now!” Michael jeers, “Brought down to your knees by four humans and a cowardly traitor!”

The Sloth Monster grumbles, furious, before he starts to laugh.

He pushes himself upright and charges at Michael, punching him hard off his feet. He stomps on his hand that’s holding the knife, shattering both the blade and some of the bones in Michael’s hand. He lets out a scream, even though the pain is more tolerable than it would be for an actual human. The bones will reform quickly. But, ow! Damn it, ow!

Just as he’s getting up again, cradling his hand, Trevor gets in another smack down. Michael feels the water lap against him when he falls this time, the two demons moving closer to the tide. He can hear Eleanor calling out in worry from a distance. The third punch knocks his glasses off and the squint in the eyes of his suit blurs his image of the humans and Janet on the patio.

Why won’t they just go already?! Can’t they see that he’s trying to buy them time to escape!

Trevor batters him across the head with his meaty fist again, this time breaking his nose, his jaw close to cracking. Michael touches his face and sees the drops of blue goo on his fingers.

“You really wanna talk jokes, Michael? Look at yourself!” Trevor taunts before pummelling him again; “You were a loser as a demon! Always thinking yourself so smart, so above what everyone else was into, as if you were too good for all the classic torture! No one could ever stand your boring, dorky ash! Or your sick little obsession with life on Earth. Couldn’t find any friends in Hell so you had to make friends with a bunch of roaches, huh? Pathetic.”

Another punch shoves Michael into the sand, a large thumb in the crook if his neck forcing him to gag on the wet clumps. Trevor leans down, as much as he can in this form.

“And you know what’s even more of a loser than a demon with no friends?” He taunts in a low growl; “A demon trying to live like a human. That’s what Shellstrop was for you, wasn’t she? She made you feel like a real boy? How touching. Ugh! Barf! You really think she could ever really accept you for what you really are? Do you think any of those humans up there could look at you and see anything other than a vile, disgusting monster?”

He grabs Michael by the collar of his shirt and throws him to the side like a toy, against a pile of rocks on the shore. Pain shoots through down his back as his spine collides with the shaper edges. Fork!

Trembling, he grits his teeth through the growing agony, continuing to rise back onto his feet.

His side is starting to burn and he clutches his hand to his abdomen, Trevor’s shadow casting over him as the monster stomps closer again to deal out more damage.

The ringing in his ears is deafening now. He can barely hear Eleanor and the others. But he knows they’re still there. Idiots.

“You really think you’re better than us? Better than me? How many humans have you tortured, Mikey? You were at it for centuries longer than I was! You’re no angel, dude. You’ll never be one of them. You’ll never change what you are, what we were made to be!”

Michael looks over to the beach house. Through his distorted vision, he makes out a head of blond hair belonging to a figure leaning heavily on the wall of the patio, calling his name. Tahani and Chidi flank her at both sides, while Jason is no doubt still trying to free Janet.

He reaches his hand in his pocket, finding what remains of his bracelet. Only four links are left. Mr. Mendoza has the other two. Michael grips them, briefly.

_Aren’t they just the most amazing thing?_

Trevor is right about one thing. He’s no angel. And he’ll never truly be one of _them_. A human. He’s spent a whole year pretending to be something he wasn’t, all to make one, single human female happy, afraid that she wouldn’t love the real him.

Why? Why so much effort just for her?

That year had been a wild trip. Scientific interest had turned to possessiveness. Possessiveness had turned to affection. Affection to pride. Pride to fondness. Fondness to lust. Lust to love. He can’t pinpoint on what day, at what time, each beat passed in the progression of his feelings. All he knew for sure was where it had lead him now, being beaten to a pulp by a great big Sloth Monster with some obvious human-envy issues of his own.

Not that Michael has any sympathy for him. He made his choice on how to deal with those feelings, with the truth. Now he can face the consequences, just as Michael will.

He lets go of his bracelet and steels himself, looking up at Trevor as he steps towards him.

“Thanks, bro. You just reminded me of what I need to do.” He grins, putting his hand to the scar on his abdomen, “You’re right. It’s time I remembered what I really am.”

His fingernails dig into the groove of red skin.

Trevor chuckles and raises his fists in the air again. Michael closes his eyes, picturing the four humans and Janet in his mind, holding them vividly in his imagination, before his body is violently splattered into goo.

_Take it sleazy, guys._

*

They watch as Trevor’s huge novelty hammer-size fists come down at full force on top of the Architect. They hit the sand and pebbles with such power that there’s a rise of stones, brown dust and blue juice into the air as the ground itself is dented from the impact.

“MICHAEL!” Eleanor screams for the umpteenth time, unable to tear her eyes away as she watched, helpless, as Michael took every beating the creature almost double his size dealt out to him.

It had been like watching a silver haired puppy get repeatedly kicked.

More than once, Tahani and Chidi had to hold her back from leaving the patio, from staying where Michael had ordered them to keep back to. Or run. They definitely were not doing the second option. Not while there was a chance they could free Janet and help Michael out in dealing with probably the most evil, sadistic demon that the Bad Place had produced.

As the sand settles, Eleanor hopes to still see him, stumbling onward, continuing the fight. He’d been such a trooper so far. Despite being so clearly out of his depth, a relatively little old dude up against a giant monster, unarmed and powerless, he’d continued to stand his ground. Eleanor had allowed herself to believe he truly was indestructible. Her hero, her savior from the bowels of darkness, just as she had thought of him for a year.

But Michael doesn’t stand up. Not this time. She frowns, her heart suddenly feeling as though it’s stuck in her throat, as her eyes catch sight of the shredded remains of his suit on the ground, lying inert in a pool of blue goo and smashed, pink flesh.

“No…no, no…” Eleanor stumbles back, Tahani and Chidi’s hands already waiting to catch her.

Get up. Damn it, Michael, get up now!

Chidi grips her wrist; “Eleanor, we need to go! He told us to run!”

She shakes her head. No. No, she won’t leave him. Not again. She watches as Trevor’s foot kicks at the remains of Michael’s crushed body. She’s not sure whether he’s doing it to check he’s still alive, so to speak, or just for ‘fun’. Eleanor wants to stab the forker a billion times over again. There must be another knife in what remains of the house, somewhere.

“Jason…why the hell aren’t those cuffs off yet, man?!” She growls at him.

“Stupid lock won’t budge! I’m sorry!” Jason throws the twisted metal on the ground, genuinely frustrated to the point of being upset.

Janet’s head lolls; “S’happenin’ now? Is Michael winning? Go, Michael!”

“He’s gone, Janet…” Tahani whispers, clearly uncertain how to feel about her friend turned torturer turned possible ally being destroyed.

Eleanor winces; “Damnit, Tahani, he’s not gone!”

He promised her. He promised that he would never leave her. He swore to stay by her side forever. He swore to never…

Fork! Eleanor staggers forward, shaking hands gripping the wall.

He lied. He lied about so many things.

She had been foolish to believe yet another promise made to her by someone who claimed to love her. She’d been an idiot to think that something so bright and wonderful in her life could last. All good things end for her. All the best dreams turn to nightmares.

Eleanor hears the gross, slimy monster laugh in the distance. She raises her head up.

“I’m comin’ for you, babe! I’m comin’ for you and all your little friends!” Trevor jeers, kicking Michael’s suit to the side like a piece of trash before starting to walk up the beach towards them.

Her body shudders as she remembers. The cell. The dark.

Drip. Drip.

The constant, endless sound of her own bodily fluids leaking slowly onto the floor. Her one companion. She would rather be reset, her mind extinguished, than ever go back to that. She would rather be a splattered pile of bones and blood, like her ex-boyfriend. She looks to her friends, picturing them bound from the ceiling with cable ties cutting into their wrists, their skin burnt and blistered after a train ride inside an oven for a carriage. She imagines them being reduced to the quivering, helpless wreck she once was.

Oh. No forking way was that happening. Trevor had already taken Michael from her. He wasn’t getting her friends as well.

She starts towards the patio steps, Chidi instantly reaching out to hold her back again.

“Get off me!” She hisses at him.

“No! He told me to look after you, to make sure you didn’t do any stupid shirt to hurt yourself and I’m gonna!” His hold grows surprisingly rough as he tries to pull her away.

“Fork what Michael wanted! The son of bench isn’t here! He left me. He’s gone!” Eleanor’s tears spill, bitterly, from her eyes.

Her knees buckle as Chidi’s arms wrap around her, letting her lean against him so she doesn’t collapse from the grief.

Now is not the time. Trevor might be slow but he’s on his way. He’ll follow them until they tire out.

Eleanor regains her composure. They need to be fast. They need to book it.

A clap of thunder and lightning, barely seconds apart, opens up the sky. The sudden explosive noise makes the gang all recoil, huddling together as the sky is quickly covered in a rushing wave of grey clouds. The wind turns harsh and cold, the sun all too quickly shut out from view, everything turning as dark as night. Darker even, without the gentle light of the stars and moon that had been such a comfort for Eleanor all those nights when her worst dreams woke her up.

The four friends all hunker down beside Janet, Eleanor tugging Michael’s jacket he had given her around her arms.

“Where the fork did this storm come from?!” She has to shout to ask.

Janet hums; “Fun Fact!...Unclear.”

The not-robot needed to relearn the definition of ‘fun’.

Glancing over the low wall, Eleanor sees the confusion in Trevor’s movements and the blinking of his three eyes. He’s as baffled as they are.

The waves of the sea are suddenly rising higher and crashing with greater velocity against the shore, the water turning ferocious, the once calm and blue ocean now a giant, black clash of wind and liquid. The gale that seems to be moving towards the water, carrying broken planks and drywall from the burnt-out house towards the ever growing whirlpool that’s appearing about half a mile out in the ocean.

An ear-splitting screech fills the air. Like the sound of a thousand cats being murdered.

“Once again, I have to ask…What in God’s name is that?!” Chidi asks as the cause of the strange weather phenomenon begins to show itself.

Giant red and blue tentacles crawl out of the sea and wrap themselves around Trevor. He puts up a struggle, cursing in a guttural tone, but unable to fight against what has got a hold of him.

The four of them all lean on the wall, unable to tear their eyes away. Even Jason has had to pull himself away from trying to free Janet to get a glimpse of whatever is happening right now. Eleanor gawps at the sight of the great, writhing arms flailing out of the water, noticing with added horror that the white lumps decorating the biggest ones are not suckers. They’re _teeth_. Razor sharp, exposed teeth!

Finally, a giant triangular neck rises out of the whirlpool and launches itself into the sky, it’s body bursting into persistent flames that light up the horizon, surrounded by even more long, teeth-coated tentacles as it eclipses the sky and levitates above the ocean. A putrid smell reaches them, but Eleanor is less bothered by the scent, having been gassed with far worse odors in the Bad Place. If anything, it reminds her of spoiled seafood, which she would take over blood and shirt any day. Its own naturally excreted juice drips from its body and into the water, causing a thick steam to rise beneath it.

The multiple, glowing blue orbs that are found all over its form must be the thing’s eyes, as they’re fixed on the smaller creature it has in its tentacles, holding it up for inspection. The monster, the massive fire squid, lets out another cat-like screech.

“Again! What is that thing?!” Chidi asks, needing an answer before his head explodes.

“UNCLEAR!” Everyone else shouts at once.

Eleanor remembers all the mythical beasts Michael summoned for her while they were here. Unicorns, dragons, griffins, Stevie Nicks, mermaids, the lot. Was this another surprise he had planned that they didn’t get around to? Here’s your new pet Cthulu, babe! She hopes this wasn’t going to be his anniversary present.

Then she hears Trevor’s screams. His begging for mercy as the beast twists and pulls him apart like sticky putty.

He’s…being tortured.

Oh. Maybe this is the present she wanted after all, it was just wrapped in the most bizarre and random packaging.

Without wasting another moment, the squid’s tentacles rip and tear the demon apart, smashing bits of him between the teeth of each arm, turning him into blue gunk yet again, gathering a portion of each on the tip of every one. Eleanor loses count of how many arms the thing has. Possibly infinite. The thing is the size of a building, even at this distance they have to crane their heads up to get a good view of it all. As grotesque and humongous as the giant squid is, Eleanor starts to realise, with rather fond surprise, how unafraid she is. What should be the most horrific being she’s ever set eyes on, a Lovecraftian abomination, doesn’t fill her with dread…but hope.

Jason seems to share her weird fixation as he cheers on the beast, watching as it mashes what had been the source of Eleanor’s greatest fears for this past year into demon goop. Chidi and Tahani remain silent, staring glassy-eyed with their jaws on the floor, because they’re normal.

The giant, flaming squid shrieks again and levitates itself higher into the air. It starts throwing out its tentacles, swirling them around like those carnival rides sending the dozens, if not hundreds, of pieces of Trevor’s essence into the atmosphere, through the clouds, possibly far, far away, beyond the ‘viewing window’ of this micro-universe and to the stars beyond. Eleanor watches with bated breath.

Michael’s firework display just got seriously outdone.

Some of the juice from the creature’s own tentacles gets thrown around as well, some drops hissing as they hit the rocks, or burn through the sand. A few sparse drops shoot towards the beach house.

“Everyone, get down!” Janet suddenly orders them.

Eleanor and the others flatten themselves to the floor, going into duck and cover, clinging to each other while Janet stands up. She raises her cuffed wrists up in the air, letting them be hit by one of the acidic droplets. The handcuffs instantly dissolve, and she shakes them off.

She automatically returns to her chipper self, her powers no doubt restored. She summons a large umbrella into her hand to protect the rest of them from the last of the acid rain.

“Thanks, pal.” Eleanor hears her whisper.

…Pal?

Wait.

No, it couldn’t be…

When the rain stops, the four of them slowly get up from the ground, Chidi helping Eleanor to stand, while Janet reaches for Jason and Tahani. They all brush themselves off, looking up at the still stormy sky, though the wind has died down a little. It still feels cold, all of them keeping close together for warmth.

Tahani puts her hand to her chest, “…What just happened?”

“If I had to guess,” Chidi says, fixing his glasses; “Trevor just got early retirement.”

Eleanor grins; “Oh, dude. That might just be the coolest line you will ever say. Ever. If I was you, I’d stop speaking now, because nothing will top that!”

Chidi nods, conceding a little.

It doesn't quite feel real when she tries to believe it. Trevor is. Gone. Forever. He can't come back. He can't hurt her again. Huh. She thought knowing that would feel a lot different. Less...numb.

Jason is still gawping, his eyes sparkling like a child being presented with a golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s.

“That is the dopest thing I’ve ever seen!” He grins, wildly, as the giant squid levitates back down to rest above the ocean, letting its smaller limbs soak in the boiling water beneath it.

“Where did it come from?” Tahani asks, sounding more worried than the rest of them; “What if we have to deal with that now instead of Trevor? Ugh, I’m done with gross demons for today, I need my dizzy couch and a face mask already!”

Janet summons the former for her to collapse on, which the English beauty gladly does. Eleanor keeps a hold of her hand. This probably is too much. It almost is for her and she’s made love to a demon on a comet.

She looks back over to the squid, watching as it just sorta sits on its seat of air over the ocean, not too far from the pier, tentacles cutting through the waves, continuing its high-pitched screeching.

“Is it in pain? Why is it screaming?” Chidi asks.

Eleanor starts to find it amusing how Janet won’t answer all their questions. As she listens closely to the noise ringing through the ether, she recognises a familiar tune, one that reminds her of bowling alleys and claw machines and yellow plushies.

_“Take me now but know the truth,  
I’m goin’ down in a blaze of glory…”_

Eleanor starts to laugh, hands flying up to her mouth. The others look at her as though she’s lost her mind. Maybe she has. It would be on point, considering all that she’s been through.

“What is so funny?” Tahani asks her.

She shakes her head, her eyes shining with tears;

“It’s not a scream, you guys. It’s a song!”

Eleanor races down from the patio, skipping two steps at a time as she descends to the beach, bolting it as quick as she can across the shore. She feels the air grow hot, almost unbearably so, the closer she gets to the gigantic, possibly hundreds of feet tall flaming squid. She takes off Michael’s jacket but keeps it in her hands as she finds the rest of his skin suit at the spot where Trevor smashed it to pieces.

There’s still some loose thread of sorts keeping all the fabric and skin linked together, though badly torn apart. Eleanor tries not to be sick as she gathers it up into her arms.

“Gross, gross, gross, gross, gross.” She mutters, making sure to pick up his glasses too.

The things they do for love.

“Janet, can you fix this?” She asks, the damn thing feeling so light and fragile in her arms.

The mainframe puts her hands over the suit. Eleanor watches as all the seams between the flesh, the hair and the clothes fit neatly back together. It feels a little more solid, like carrying an expensive dress out of a sale at Bloomingdales. Now it all it needs is the body to wear it. The only one who it was meant for.

Eleanor turns towards the ocean, clutching the skin suit close to her chest. She moves forward, wincing already as she catches sight of the dangerous fluid excreting from the squid’s body. She remembers the burn on her leg from before. That had only been a single, tiny drop.

“Let me go to him.” She asks of Janet one more wish.

Janet nods and a translucent, white forcefield flickers around Eleanor’s body. She doesn’t feel any different but suspects it will protect her from the heat and the acid and, hopefully, those teeth if they happen to come into contact with her. Just in case he doesn’t recognise…

She walks up to the pier that stretches a long ways out into the ocean, where the squid is currently resting, crooning away to himself. She has to jog quite a ways to reach him, no longer bothered by the heat, more so by how forking huge he is up close. She can no longer see the top of his neck. The nearer she gets, the more Eleanor starts to worry that he won’t even see her. It will be like spotting a flea on a table.

It might be pointless. She might be wasting what precious time he has given them to run.

But it’s worth trying. He is worth it.

“Hey, buddy!” She shouts, standing near the edge of the pier, “Quite a show you put on there. You had us all worried but you came through in the end, just like I knew you would. How’s about you get back in this bad boy, yeah? I already miss my silver fox.”

Eleanor lays the skin suit down on the wood. She steps back, waiting for a response. A look. Anything.

Please?

She takes a breath; “Michael? Can you hear me?”

It feels as though she’s shouting at a giant wall of moist mandibles. She’s about to ask Janet if there is any way she can help her communicate to him, before a single blue eye that’s the size of her clown house opens up, rotates and focuses on her, blinking vertically.

Eleanor smiles with relief. She sees him.

“Michael…”

She reaches out.

The squid skitters back a little, letting out another piercing mewl. He’s not singing anymore. He's...afraid. Eleanor wishes she could find it funny, an Eldritch aquatic horror scared out of his wits by a teeny tiny human girl. All Eleanor feels in that moment is gut-wrenching sadness.

“No…No, we’re not doing this.” She yells, shaking her head; “Haven’t you got it into those three thick demon brains of yours?! We’re not leaving you here to be Retired! Trevor is gone, there’s nothing for us to run from!”

Michael screeches again, the flesh around his eye creasing up, looking pained.

“What? You think we should be scared of you? C’mon, dude. Jason is almost brain dead because you’ve just blown his mind more than any meth trip could! And I’m sure once Chidi and Tahani get over their strokes, they’ll learn to appreciate it.” Eleanor attempts to comfort with humor; “As for me? Hey. Any giant squid who sends the one who beat and raped me into eternal suffering is all right by me!”

One of the tentacles rears up out of the water and lands on the edge of the pier, crushing it down into the waves. Eleanor sidesteps away from the edge but doesn’t try to leave.

She turns to glare at the blue orb, her anger rising once more.

“Okay, fine! Throw a tantrum if it makes you feel better! Pull an Eleanor and try to scare me off, but it won’t work!” She yells at him; “Janet’s given me some Violet Incredible forcefield shirt so you can’t hurt me! You can smash this whole pier to splinters, it just means fishing me out of the sea, if I really do mean anything to you!”

More screeches follow and Eleanor can hear the shame and regret. She knows that the big old doof is still reeling from the other demon’s revelation earlier.

“You really think just killing Trevor and then leaving yourself to die is gonna make everything right? Wrong, dude! You’re just letting him and all those other demons have the last laugh! How dare you tell Chidi to look after me when I’m a danger to myself, then go and leave yourself to be killed! You wanna make things better? Then live! Live and keep trying, each and every day, even when it sucks…Especially when it sucks! No matter what, you have to keep trying to get better…You have to let others help you…just like you helped me get better, remember?”

The eye blinks at her again, looking almost damp, which Eleanor can’t work out is from gigantic tears or the bodily juice coating the squid.

“I wouldn’t be standing here if not for you, Michael. I wouldn’t have been able to face Trevor if you hadn’t been there for me all that time. If you hadn’t made me feel…” Eleanor wipes her eyes.

The tentacle that’s nearest to her, one of the smaller ones with hardly any teeth, raises up again.

She prepares for it to smash more of the pier. She doesn’t move.

“You listen to me, okay! I might not see any ears but I know you can hear me!” Eleanor shouts, unable to hold her emotions back anymore; “Everyone who ever claimed to care about me either left me or drove me away! Everyone except for the people on this beach! And that includes you! You swore to me that you would be by my side, no matter what! So…if you really want to prove to me that what we had was real…that you really loved me…Do what the other ash-holes never did! Stay with me, Michael!”

Every inch of her body is trembling, her knees threatening to fold beneath her. She’s close to falling when something large slithers and coils around her body. She gasps, stunned for a moment, before realizing what’s happening. She sees Michael’s eye blink again, the softness of his gaze shining through, the embrace of his tentacle as gentle as he can make it, lifting her feet almost a metre off the ground.

The sound he utters is less like a scream this time. More a high-pitched rumble. Almost as if he were purring. Fire squids are surprisingly more feline than she expected.

She smiles, laughing a little at the absurdity, resting her hands on the weight enveloping her. This is the closest she ever wanted to get to hugging a giant squid, which wasn’t something she ever imagined doing in the first place, as crazy and vivid as her imagination could be. Eleanor rests her head down, letting some of her tears fall onto Michael as she strokes the spongy but not unpleasant skin.

She might not speak fire squid. But she knows they’re both communicating the same promise.

_I’m right here._

__

Distantly, she hears the footsteps of her friends as they start to catch up, running towards them.

It’s time to get going. Eleanor sighs and pats him again as he slowly puts her down, releasing her. She reaches down for the skin suit, lifting it up, offering it out in her arms. It’s his choice. His gambit.

“Remember what you told me? The only one holding yourself back is you.” She quotes his words, calmer now, with a smirk, “So girl, get your shirt together and move your ash over here.”

The squid blinks one last time and it almost looks as though he’s smiling with his multiple eyes alone.

He moves his smaller tentacle forward, tip brushing against the suit. The effect is instant and Eleanor has to stand back as all six thousand feet of the great, flaming entity is shrunken down and sucked into the human body. It fills out, a bit like a balloon being blown up, as the fire and tentacles disappear along with the burning sky, stormy weather and rough sea. The waters return to their clear serenity.

The clouds disperse and the sun comes out, just in time for Michael to open his two regular sized eyes, blinking rapidly, glancing down at his fingers, then raising them to touch his face. Checking he’s all there.

Eleanor unfolds his glasses and steps forward, sliding the frames over his ears.

He gazes at her, brow creasing at first, before the light returns to his face and he lets out his first new breath.

“Oh...Eleanor!"

As much as she loved hearing a squid purr, it’s so good to hear that voice again. To hear him mispronounce her name in that weird but adorable way he always has, ever since they first set eyes on each other.

She beams at him, touching his cheek; “Hey, sleepy head.”

Michael frowns; “That doesn’t really work in this conte-.”

“Shut up!” She laughs, throwing her arms around his neck.

His arms wrap around her, clutching her tight to his freshly restored body. She buries her head in his chest and curls her fingers into his suit, clinging on for all she has. She shudders in his embrace, tears continuing to fall, as his hand moves through her hair, keeping her close. After what just happened, after how close she came to knowing the pain of losing Michael forever, she never wants to let him go again.

She opens her eyes a little, looking to the side, seeing her friends all stood several feet away. They say nothing. They offer nothing more than quiet, uncertain smiles, with the exception of Jason who is clearly bummed that he didn’t get to touch the fire squid. She smiles back at them, just grateful that they are letting the two of them have this moment, forked up as it might be.

They’re all together. They’re all safe.

She pulls back and hangs onto Michael's arm; “C’mon, you big dumb demon. We're taking you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beautiful illustration by Star-Pepper (star-pepper.tumblr.com)
> 
> My other favorite fanart of our lovely Fire Squid: https://jarrows.tumblr.com/post/188438541999/im-a-six-thousand-foot-tall-fire-squid


	21. Chapter 21

His fingers curl over her own.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Michael asks her, his voice ever so soft. So cautious.

Eleanor hesitates. It’s been so long. Old wounds of treachery still not fully healed. But she knows, in her gut, that it’s time.

Do or die. And she’s already dead.

She nods; “I’m sure, Michael.”

The hunger is so intense. She can’t keep putting it off forever, as much as it frightens her, makes her fearful that it won’t be as incredible as she remembers it. That it will all be one big dumpster fire of sickness and disappointment.

Try as hard as she can to keep a brave face, there’s no mistaking the uncertainty in her eyes.

“It’s okay if you’re not ready.” He reminds her, “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. And if it doesn’t feel right, we can stop.”

“I know, dude, okay!” She tries to stay calm; “It’s just…I guess it’s a bit weird with everyone watching.”

“Hey, we’re all friends. We’re here to support you with whatever you do.” Chidi assures her.

Jason bobs his head in agreement; “Yo, we’re more than friends, homes. We’re family.”

“That just makes it weirder.” Eleanor raises an eyebrow. She takes a deep breath; “Okay! I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

Here she goes.

She looks into Michael’s eyes. She trusts him, she thinks. She knows he won’t do anything to hurt her again.

He smiles at her and snaps his fingers.

A silver plate carrying a shrimp cocktail with seafood sauce appears in her lap. Wasting no time, Eleanor dives straight in, as if ripping off a band-aid. She picks up one by the tail and dunks in the sauce, digging it back out with a huge pink dollop, before putting it between her teeth.

Oh. Sweet. Forking. Kim Kardashian.

Her taste-buds fizzle with delight as she crunches it in her mouth. Eleanor moans, eyes closing, her head rolling back. Her hand grips the nearby cushion as if having to stop herself from sliding off the couch as she feels her body melt from the pleasure. She takes another bite, her shoulders trembling a little, fully aware that everyone in the room is staring awkwardly at her.

“Okay, I take it back. You and the shrimp need to get a room.” Chidi quips and the others laugh in agreement.

Eleanor swallows, smirking; “I’m being reunited with my one true love, gimmie a break!”

“One true love? Ouch, Eleanor, I’m sitting right here.” Michael complains, beside her.

“The shrimp never betrayed me. They were unwittingly used against me. And now we’re reunited and it feels…” She pops another in her mouth, proceeding to make more suggestive noises and squirming; “Soo good!”

They all start laughing again, the six of them all sat around the living room, each with their own preference of beverage and favorite snacks to enjoy. No one would think that only a few hours ago they had been engaged in a cataclysmic battle between a Sloth Monster and a Fire Squid, or that the house they were currently all chillaxing in had been a smouldering pile of embers when they’d arrived.

It had been an uncomfortable walk at first, as they had left the damaged pier and made their way back to the shore. Eleanor had held on tight to Michael’s arm, noticing how the Architect almost seemed to be limping, though not out of any physical pain as far as she could tell. He looked smaller somehow. She was sure she had gathered up every piece of his suit for Janet to repair before giving him back. No, he was still a beanpole beside her. There was just a heaviness in his expression and a weight on his shoulders that kept him from striding tall with the showman confidence he used to possess. She hadn’t said a word, only leant into him and rubbed his arm, silently reminding him of their promise.

It had been Jason who broke the silence when they set foot back on the sand.

“It’s just not fair! Eleanor got the cool beach house, got to play with all the magical animals, and she got to see Squid Michael up close! I don’t get to do anything like that.” He whined, his priorities rather endearing.

“Your girlfriend could give you literally anything you asked for, dude.” Chidi had pointed out.

“She’s not a girl. And it ain’t cool for me to use her like a vending machine, dawg.” Jason reached for Janet’s hand and kissed her.

Eleanor smiled; “Aww, that’s sweet. And hey, what do you mean you didn’t get to do anything cool? You threw a Molotov cocktail at a demon! It saved my ash!”

“That was pretty tight.” Jason conceded, mollified.

“Speaking of impressive, what about Tahani, huh?” Michael finally spoke up, looking over at her, “How you caught that knife I tossed you? I was worried I was gonna cut your fingers off. You plucked it out the air like a champ!”

Tahani had blushed and flicked her hair back; “Oh well, y’know. Spend a weekend or two at Jared Leto’s house, you either learn all sorts of neat tricks, or you just end up in hospital.”

“I feel like I didn’t get to do anything badash during that fight.” Chidi said, blandly.

“Oh, that’s not true. You…threw some rocks.” Michael commented, not really sounding as though he’s trying to praise him as he had Tahani.

Chidi pursed his lips; “And?”

“…They were slightly big rocks?”

“Anyway!” Eleanor chimed in, steering the conversation swiftly on; “I suppose we better be calling the train to get back. Janet?”

“Aww, do we have to go back so soon?” Jason whined some more; “Can’t we just hang out here, like, forever?”

“Y’know, he has a point.” Chidi frowned, turning to her and Michael; “You and Eleanor were here for a year, couldn’t we just stay here for as long as we wanted without the other demons knowing, like we all did these past two weeks?”

“Sorry, guys.” Janet apologised; “The time streams were stretched too far apart for too long, they became too much for me to hold and now they’re back to normal, it would risk breaking apart the fabric of the whole neighborhood to separate them again.”

“But y’know what, Jason is right…Ow, that hurt to say out loud.” Michael winced and Eleanor had given him a playful nudge; “It won’t hurt for us to stay here a little bit longer and I think you all deserve some R&R.”

Jason’s eyes lit up; “We get to see pirates?!”

“Pirates! That’s what I kept meaning to ask you to summon for me!” Eleanor finally remembered, swatting Michael’s elbow.

It had been on her list after the replica of Titanic but they hadn’t got around to it.

He waved his hands; “There’s no pirates! Or, fine, maybe later. But for now…Janet, do you mind?”

And that’s what lead to Janet restoring the beach house from the ashes to its true, liveable state.

Watching their home return to normal had given Eleanor almost the same warm glow of satisfaction that she’d felt watching Michael’s human suit be filled up with his essence again. The words she had spoken on the morning they first made love still held true, she would adore Michael in whatever suit he wore, or even none at all, the humungous hell-squid already having wrapped its tentacles firmly around her heart. But this Michael she was holding onto felt most like her Michael. This little, simple but safe and quiet villa felt most like their home.

The two of them had stood on the patio together, letting the rest of the group enter first, getting a chance to look around and make themselves comfy, Tahani already commenting on how ‘petite’ and ‘adorably rustic’ it was, while Jason quickly found the PS6, talking Chidi around to playing a round of Marvel vs Capcom. Eleanor had smiled up at Michael, who was watching them all with a strange look on his face. Not the fascinated glee of a puppet-master or scheming overlord. Something else. She’d given his hand a squeeze and he smiled down at her, all the encouragement he needed to join them.

There was still the matter of the Bad Janet who was due back to collect Trevor and the other humans. She had been rather easily dealt with, thanks to another of Michael’s trusty paperclips.

Sitting in the living room now, Jason tosses the marble in the air.

“Bet you I can catch it in my mouth!” He tries and the marbleized Bad Janet hits him on the nose; “Ow, she did that on purpose!”

“Marbleized Janets can be destroyed forever by being launched into space or eaten as a snack. They lack the potassium that a Good Janet marble contains though.” Janet informs them; “However, they are high in fructose corn syrup.”

“Aww, dip!” Jason goes to put it between his teeth.

“NO!” Chidi stops him, taking the marble; “I’m more or less fine with the murdering Trevor thing but I might have to draw the line at killing another Janet, even a bad one.”

He gives it to their Janet for safe keeping in her void.

Eleanor finishes her plate of shrimp, no one else having dared to try to ask for her to share. They all know the rule. Shellstrop and her shrampies is a closed relationship. She lets Michael snap the plate away and she leans against his side, stretching a bit as the sweet taste of them lingers on her tongue. Ah. Blissful afterglow, take her away. She feels Michael’s fingers slide between her own, knowing he’s looking at her with pride.

It’s strange how this feels as much of a victory over her abuser as watching Michael retire him had been. This was more personal. Taking back something of her own, much like finding her own sexual agency had been.

None of her friends ask exactly what it was Trevor did to put her off her favorite food for so long.

Good. It’s not something she is ready to talk about. Overcoming it is enough of a hurdle for one afternoon.

“Not to be a buzzkill but-.”

“Oh, Chidi, you should never be ashamed of what you are.” Michael interjects.

The others can’t help but laugh, the professor himself even proudly holding his hands up to it, cracking a smile.

“I know, I know. But I can’t relax until I’m clear on everything. What exactly is the plan now?” He asks.

Eleanor expects Michael to be the one to answer that. Except his eyes are on her.

Right. It’s her choice. She’s the designated leader, apparently.

“Mindy’s bland, magic-free getaway doesn’t have the appeal it used to, not for me anyway.” She admits, hand still holding her demon companions’; “I don’t fancy the idea of being reset or going to the real Bad Place, so the only option we’re left with is what Michael offered before. We pretend to be reset and just wait it out, put up with the other demons pranks and the rest of the time hang out together. Right?”

She looks at Michael for confirmation. He nods.

“I mean…if that’s what you’re all sure you want? I know I can’t make up for what I’ve done to you all in the past but I can try to make all the torture a little more tolerable from here on out.” He sounds unsure, looking nervously at the other humans in the room besides Eleanor.

She’s already sold and Jason seems content though that may be due to not understanding what is going on.

Chidi and Tahani don’t look quite as certain.

“I suppose, if it’s the best we’ve got then it feels stupid saying no.” Chidi shrugs. Both of them don’t look too comfortable around Michael, despite all that’s happened.

Eleanor can’t blame them for that. If she hadn’t fallen in love with the dummy…

“Well, how about this? A little bit of incentive. What if I were to get all of you into the real Good Place?” Michael offers.

Tahani’s eyes widen; “You can do that?”

He looks ready to speak before his eyes turn to Eleanor again. She’s giving him the same face as the rest of them. Can Michael do such a thing? Why wasn’t it mentioned before?

Something dims in his expression when he looks into her eyes. His mouth closing.

He shakes his head; “No. I mean, I honestly don’t know how to right now. But I’m sure there has to be a way! I was able to break into their vault to steal Janet. If that was easy enough then there has to be some way. My boss gave me a thousand years to spend here with all of you so I have more than enough time on my hands. I can’t promise that I will find out but…I promise that I’ll try.”

Eleanor suspects he was ready to feed them a load of bullshirt about already knowing a way to get there before he looked at her. Before he remembered what he had sworn to her. Her chest feels warm again as she turns and looks at the others. Even Jason is back to paying attention now.

“I guess…trying is the most important thing you can do.” Chidi concedes with a shrug.

“And I suppose a fake paradise is still somewhat paradise.” Tahani agrees, “I’ll have to think of it as living at Palm Springs, surrounded by the world’s worst neighbors. I’m sure no demon could top having Arnold Schwarzenegger shout at the milkman every morning. I still get to stay at my mansion, right?”

“Yes! And, as I said, when there are no demons around, you can ask anything you want from Janet. Literally anything your hearts desire.” Michael expresses.

“You mean like…a chocolate coated oreo?” Jason asks before being instantly granted one by Janet.

Michael shrugs; “Yeah but, feel free to let your imagination go a little farther than that, buddy.”

“Okay…double stuffed chocolate oreos?”

Janet hands him a packet which brings a massive smile to the simple guy’s face.

Eleanor shakes her head, chuckling. When Jason has finished snacking, she goes into more details about some of the things her and Michael got up to, the magical wonders he summoned for her, the virtual reality places they visited. She leaves out some of the more intimate details, as much as she wishes she could boast about how the billions year old demon made her come on the back of a dragon.

The various stories she tells seem to open Jason’s imagination a little more and he’s soon bouncing up and down like a small child, wanting to have a taste of what Eleanor experienced.

Seeing as none of them got to fly on the first day, Janet suggests letting them have that experience now, as the demons wouldn’t let it pass in the fake Good Place. All three are eager for a try, as is Eleanor at first, getting up and making her way to the patio door. She’s had enough experience flying now to call herself a pro. It’s not something one ever tires of. She’s about to leave when she turns, seeing Michael headed towards his ‘home office’.

“Hey, dude. You comin’?” She asks, the little voice in her head saying it’s not a great idea to leave Michael alone right now.

He looks up with a hum, a twitching hand hovering over the door handle.

“Yeah, yeah, fine. Just gonna check on some stuff. You go have fun with your friends. It’ll be less awkward without me there.” He takes a jab at himself, bashfully.

Eleanor sighs. Looks like she won’t be flying quite yet. It’s overrated anyway.

“Guys! I’ll catch up later! Maybe…And they can’t hear me, they’re already up.” She says aloud, closing the patio door.

She goes over to Michael and reaches for his hand.

“C’mon, bud. We’re doing this now.” Eleanor tells him.

He blinks at her; “Doing what?”

Michael lets her slide her hand in his, leading him to her bedroom and sitting on the divan.

“Eleanor, not to be a prude, but I don’t think I’m in the mood for-.” He tries to speak before Eleanor puts a finger to his lips.

“Mind. Gutter. Out.” She tells him, sternly; “I just talked you out of killing yourself. Even I’m not going to be horny after that. And you know it takes a lot to put me off.”

She shuffles close to him, not too stifling, just so their knees knock a little. She keeps a hold of his hand, cradling it safely in her lap. Michael’s gaze is downcast again, looking close to being lost at any moment, unless his lifeline is there to reel him in. Eleanor doesn’t let go.

“Y-you shouldn’t be worried about me, Eleanor. You’re the one he put through Hell. I should be asking how you are.” He whispers; “Oh. H-how are you, by the way?”

She manages a small smile; “I’m…nothing. Right now. It doesn’t feel like anything has changed. Kinda like when your birthday rolls around, you think you’re gonna feel so different, all big and full of wisdom, but it’s just the same as any other day. I’m just…glad that we’re all okay. I’m glad you’re still with me and we don’t have to keep you in the ocean. But the Trevor stuff? I think my brain is still processing. I have a feeling it’s just gonna hit me outta the blue one day, when I least expect it.”

“Well. When that happens, you know…” Michael starts.

“Yeah. I know.” She smiles, squeezing his hand again.

Maybe that is what is keeping her from spiralling into an existential crisis over what happened to her, how it changed her, and if Trevor got his just desserts, or if he deserved worse. She surrounded by so much love right now. She can hear the screams of thrilled excitement from her friends outside as they soar through the air. The one who picked her up and put her back together is beside her, holding her hand.

How could her mind fall into darkness again when it’s being cradled in so much light?

Michael, however…She starts to realise. She is all the support he has. Her friends are not his friends. Not yet. Deciding to no longer torture someone doesn’t make the leap to being anyone’s bestie.

“If you don’t feel part of the group, you know that flying is a pretty neat bonding experience?” She tells him, worried that’s what is getting him down.

He nods; “I know, I don’t mean to be a party-pooper. I wanna spend time with them, it’s just…I feel so…”

“What?” She knows he struggles with explaining human emotions he experiences.

“My head’s all heavy and my eyes are sore.”

“That’s called being tired. Being bashed about like a squash ball and then thrashing around as a giant squid before being shrunken into the body of a hot sugar daddy probably does that to you.” Eleanor reasons, “And that’s not even going into what Trevor told you about. I saw how that knocked you for six. You wanna talk about it?”

Judging from the look on Michael’s face, he doesn’t. She gets that. There’s a lot that happened to her she doesn’t think she could ever tell her friends about. There’s details she still hasn’t told Michael. Some parts might have been blacked out from her own consciousness for her own protection.

“They knew…All that time…They knew the truth and lied to me.” Michael says, quietly, looking haunted; “They watched me do the things I did…for thousands of years…knowing it was because I believed it was right, when it wasn’t true…For them…it was just for fun. When I was tearing Trevor apart, it wasn’t just him I was mad at. I pictured all of them…my boss…my employees…I dunno how many of them are like me and how many are like Trevor…I just hate what I am. What I’ve done.”

“I hate it too.” Eleanor doesn’t sugar coat.

Michael winces, looking away; “That’s why I never wanted you to see me without the suit. I knew you could never look at me the same way again.”

“M’not talking about the fire squid, dude! I hate what you did to me. And I’ll always be a little mad about it. But I know it doesn’t define who you are forever, Michael. You’ve shown you can change. That’s what’s important. Trying, right? And now you know how it feels to trust someone only for it to slap you in the face.”

He nods; “There should be a word for that. Like…De-Trust or something.”

“…Sure.” Eleanor rolls her eyes, not sure if he’s forking with her or not.

Michael sighs, posture slumped forward, “I’m so sorry, Eleanor. If this is anything like you felt, I…”

She slides an arm around his shoulder and moves closer to him, rubbing his arm.

“Y’know what this is? Empathy. Understanding what other people feel.” Eleanor smiles, “It doesn’t get more human than that.”

Michael leans his head against hers, clutching at her hand rather tight.

“It was fun for me too.”

She stills a little.

He shudders; “I found torturing fun. Not at first. First time I ever hurt a human was by accident. But then, when I was told it was my job, I…took pleasure in it. I enjoyed it. You can’t tell me that’s very human.”

Eleanor almost agrees before her mind flashes back to her time in telemarketing. She rocks him close to her side.

“It’s not quite on the same level, but I used to be proud of getting to be the top salesperson when it came to conning old people into buying fake heart medication. I made one lady cry over the phone because I made her think about not being alive for the birth of her great granddaughter so she’d put in an order.” She confesses to the demon; “That got me my first bonus. I was cheering in my cubicle. I guess we learn to love our work if we don’t recognise how much it sucks…because if we didn’t, it would mean actually realising what awful things we do.”

Michael doesn’t respond to that. He can hardly judge her for her past sins. She returns the favor. 

She gives him a playful bump with her shoulder; “Right couple of monsters, aren’t we.”

He offers her a sombre smile.

“Still think you’d make a hot demon.” He tells her, a wry glint in his eyes.

“You know it.” She won’t argue with that, feeling the wannabe human’s weight against her get heavier. She shuffles back against the pillows and tugs him close to her; “Hey. You know what’s the best cure for being tired? A nap. So, lay down.”

Michael looks reluctant; “I haven’t slept since that night we…”

Since the night that Eleanor tricked him into thinking that Trevor had stolen her away again. The night she had stabbed him and nearly unknowingly released his true demon form. The night they broke up.

“Well. You’ve made a promise to us there’ll be no more mind forks. I can promise the same.” She reaches out to stroke some of the hair above his ear, smiling as he leans into her touch; “C’mon. I’ve got you.”

She gathers the taller man into her arms and lays down with him, the same pose they could have been found together in for almost every night they spent here, only now with their positions switched. Now it’s the all-powerful immortal being who is trembling against his smaller, human companion, choking back his sobs. Michael is the one curling into Eleanor, Eleanor the one with her arms wrapped protectively around Michael, her turn to be the guardian angel and his to be the broken charge. She smiles. Any wings she has he helped her to grow.

Her hands stroke his slightly ruffled, white hair as he rests against her chest, one arm around her hip and clasped onto her back, as if afraid she’s going to disappear. She hopes not.

The niggling uncertainty is always there, huddled at the back of her mind. This is just a dream. All of this. One long episode her tortured, delusional mind has constructed while Trevor continues to slice and burn her body in the cell. It’s everything she wanted, with enough darkness thrown in to make it feel real and not some impossible fantasy. Isn’t that just how her mind would work?

Are they really the best people to look after each other, given how damaged they are, how badly they’ve been twisted and hurt in the past?

She starts to feel his breathing even out against her. The doofus has managed to fall asleep quicker than she ever managed to. So much for not being a sleepy head. He’s as bad as her. Eleanor smiles to herself and kisses the top of the demon’s head before resting her own down on the pillow. Now she feels spent. It’s been a long ash day and it’s hard to believe they made it out in one piece, even if one of those pieces needed to be stitched back together. Her eyes close. They’re here.

Eleanor has no answers to the questions that haunt her. No more than Michael.

All they have right now is each other. _And that’s a lot for love._ Good old Jon, getting it right again.

*

He feels ashamed of himself. It wasn’t fair on Eleanor to see him like that. Any of it.

Firstly, to see the full image of the creature he really was. It amazed him that she could bear to come anywhere near him, even with the forcefield protecting her, surely he had been disgusting in her eyes. Humans could barely enjoy the sight or touch of regular sized squids, let alone one the size of a skyscraper. Jason being the man-child obsessed with classic monster movies he could understand. But Eleanor? She had reached out to him. She had let him hold her in one of his great tentacles and…she’d returned the hug. There wasn’t even a scream.

Eleanor Shellstrop was no Fay Wray. He should know her better by now. She’s always full of surprises.

Then, after she’d talked him down from waiting there to be found by his employees, to be retired by one of Shawn’s bigger and scarier demons than him, he’d struggled not to fall apart again. He’d managed to make some semblance of small talk and attempts at casual chatting with the other humans, making an effort to congratulate Tahani on her skills in battle without immediately tearing her down with a condescending remark. He hadn’t been able to avoid ribbing on Chidi and Jason a little but. It was early days. He was trying, damn it. It had almost been a relief for Janet to lead them out of the house so he could be left alone to brood. That was until Eleanor stayed with him.

If he really wanted her out of his hair, now would be the perfect opportunity. Wipe her and the others memories, like he was expected to. Reset everything. Back to square one.

Pretend the last year and three months never happened.

Michael readjusted his restored paperclip bracelet on his wrist and smiled. Not a chance.

He just didn’t like her seeing him so…weak. Huh. Maybe he shared the same fear as her, when it came to letting your guard down around others. It wasn’t the first time she had comforted him during one of his newfound funks, ever since the morals which had seemed so objectively certain before were now easy to question, to doubt. The last time she had found him, held him, had ended a lot more exciting. It was difficult to be embarrassed when it had lead to something so mind-blowing. It wasn’t that he didn’t love falling asleep in Eleanor’s arms. It wasn’t that her breasts didn’t make a wonderful pillow or that it didn't feel good to have her fingers stroking his hair again.

It was just that he wanted to be the one to make _her_ feel safe. He thought it was his job to protect her. She had come so far. Grown so strong. Now she seemed more powerful than him. It scared him a little…but it also made his essence quiver with adoration for her. His fearless Eleanor, his most human human.

Despite everything she said, he knew she wasn’t completely okay. He prepared himself for the fallout, whenever it was due to rear its head. He’d tried his best to hold her back before they fell asleep, ready to catch her as he always did when she needed him.

There had been no nightmares. No internal, personal tortures. No dreams at all, as far as Michael was aware.

They’d both awaken at the same time to the sound of people coming into the house.

The sun was setting by now, a dim orange glow cast over them through the window as they shifted up in Eleanor’s…or, rather, _their_ bed, given how often they shared it together.

He adjusted his glasses that he’d forgot to take off again and watched Eleanor rub her eyes, always so cute as she scrunches her nose. He resists the urge to kiss her then. He isn’t sure if they are still broken up or…what they are anymore. It doesn’t seem the right time to ask either. She catches him smirking and grins back, bashful.

“Stop giving me that look, squid boy.” She teases, shoving him lightly; “What are you thinking?”

“That you’re incredible and beautiful and stronger than I could ever hope to be.” He tells her, reaching to tuck one of the mussed up strands of hair behind her ear; “Got a problem with that?”

Eleanor blushes, biting her lip and catching his hand.

“C’mon. Let’s listen to the others talk about how _amazing_ flying is.” She grins, tugging him off the bed by the hand.

“Bunch of amateurs.” Michael comments.

“Total newbies.” She agrees with a laugh.

No surprise, the two of them get a few odd looks from the other humans when they exit the bedroom, hand in hand. They’re all gathered around the island in the kitchen, eating tubs of ice cream instead of frozen yogurt.

“I guess you guys have been doing some ‘high flying’ of your own, huh.” Chidi makes a rather poor attempt at innuendo.

Jason frowns; “Really? I thought they were having sex.”

Eleanor giggles beside him, “You guys are way off base. We just had a little siesta.”

“You can all rest assured that Eleanor is a perfect gentleman and did not take advantage of me.” Michael firmly states and they all make a face before going back to their food.

“Good save, dude.” Eleanor pats his arm.

The two of them join the others around the island, Eleanor sharing Tahani’s tub of rose pink chocolate while Jason is more than willing to let Michael have a few scoops of his cookie dough mixed with fudge brownie. He listens to the other humans describe their experiences zooming around the little secret area, seeing the ocean and the forests and the mountain which until now had been purely for him and Eleanor to enjoy.

What he expected to be rather banal listening turned out to be rather enjoyable, as each human had a different description of what they felt and saw, allowing Michael to see it through new eyes. Jason gives a vivid retelling of how he tried to divebomb to catch a squirrel only for a hawk to grab him instead, which almost makes Michael spill his ice cream. When Chidi describes how he struggled between choosing to see how far he could fly out of the ocean or to the top of the mountain, Michael isn’t sure if it’s okay to laugh at his own mental torture, but the others are laughing so it must be okay for him to laugh as well. What funny rules these humans had for when certain types of torture was acceptable, let alone humorous.

Maybe just as long as the one being tortured finds it funny? It still seemed weird to him.

Janet soon provides them with light, alcoholic beverages once the ice cream is gone. Wine coolers and cider, the sort of drinks you would find a bunch of high schoolers drinking, pretending to be hard core college kids. They all are in the mood to let loose, a little, but not too much to get shirtfaced.

She summons a few more treats for them at Michael’s request, such as pillows that hover off the floor, making for a rather fun attempt at The Floor Is Lava challenge. They play a few party games, Tahani being way too good at charades for anyone to stand a hope of winning. Spin the bottle gives Michael an odd twinge whenever it prompts Eleanor to kiss someone who isn’t him…especially Chidi. He’s rather sloppy at it himself with anyone who isn’t Eleanor, bumping his forehead against Tahani’s and apologising even when she giggles.

For whatever reason kissing is only not completely gross when it’s with Eleanor.

One by one, the three humans all slowly pass out, Janet changing their hover pillows into comfy beds filling out the living room. Eleanor remains awake, still containing extra energy after her and Michael’s afternoon nap. She tucks a blanket over Tahani and then carefully removes Chidi’s glasses. It seemed that Michael wasn’t the only guy in her life who fell asleep with his specs on.

He takes a moment to send a quick message from his office back to town, for Vicky to relay to his coworkers.

_Humans have been recovered. Will return in the morning. Prepare for Attempt #2._

Michael sighs, wishing he could keep them there for longer. He had haggled with Janet that maybe they could extend the stay to a week, maybe two? She hadn’t needed to remind him of the possible consequences if they attempted to stretch the time streams, or if the demons got suspicious.

Best to get it over with. Back to reality.

Tonight had been so much…fun. True fun. He wasn’t sure if he was ‘part of the gang’ yet but they sure hadn’t made him feel like an outsider, Jason and Eleanor especially. He still had time to work around Chidi and Tahani. That was okay. It was a wonder they let him anywhere near them after seeing what he really was. He would be lying if he said they all meant as much to him as Eleanor did, that most of the reason he wanted to be friends with them was because of her. But they were his humans. He chose them because they were fascinating, entertaining, complex. They were easy for him to relate to. They felt like a part of him, sometimes for the better, sometimes not.

Michael quietly walks through their sleeping bodies in the living room. He adjusts the pillow behind Tahani’s head before it slips off the side. For such an elegant lady, she slept like an uncouth, common Essex girl, face full of make-up smeared into the pillowcase.

He looks up and over to the open sliding door. He sees her, Eleanor, stood on the patio, leaning with her elbows on the wall, watching the sunset.

“Mind if I join you?” Michael asks as he wanders out.

“Free patio, dude.”

He takes that as an invite to lean beside her. They had watched this sunset together hundreds of times over the past year, usually sharing a single sun lounger, Eleanor curled up on his lap, Michael’s fingers combing through her hair as it grew longer, day by day, just as her spirit grew brighter.

“Thank you. For earlier. For…” He has a whole list of things to be grateful for, that now seem too long to go through at this hour; “…Thank you, Eleanor.”

She gives him a smile; “What are friends for?”

Right. Now it feels the best time to ask.

“Is that what we are now? Friends?” Michael has to ask. He needs to know before they go back to town. Back to their new ‘normal’; “I mean don’t get me wrong! It is more than I ever thought we could be again after what happened, I just…”

Eleanor takes a breath, turning to him; “Listen. I realised something important, seeing you out there today, watching what you did for us…What you were planning to do if we hadn’t shown up. Don’t get me wrong, it was awesome. But it scared me how far you were willing to go. That I almost lost you. And as I stood there, shouting down a giant fire squid from offing himself…I saw my reflection.”

Michael narrows his eyes.

“You think you’re a fire squid?” He’s sure he would have noticed that.

She rolls her eyes; “No, dude! I mean…What you said to Chidi before, about me being reckless, not always taking care of myself like I need to. You were right. I never noticed it before how…what used to be my biggest survival skill is gone and I’m more vulnerable than ever. I’m not the selfish Arizona girl I was…and that’s a good thing…but it also means I’ve gone to the other extreme. _He_ made me feel like I was worthless. And I think, despite everything I’ve regained this year, a part of me still believes that…”

Michael’s hand hovers near her but resists the urge to pet her. He hadn’t connected the two factors in his head, her lack of self-preservation with Trevor’s psychological abuse.

“Oh, Eleanor, I’m so sorry. I tried so hard to make you feel that you were loved…” He says, feeling as though he failed her.

She laughs a little, shaking her head; “You big ding dong. You did make me feel loved! You made me feel wanted…special.” She reaches to touch his shoulders; “But it’s one thing knowing someone else loves me and another loving myself again. Get it?”

“…Ah.”

He thinks he does. He knows all too well how it feels to loathe what you are. Taking off the suit had been his attempt to reconnect with what he used to be before the end. The demon. The definitely not-human.

It hadn’t been a quick fix. Far from it, he felt as ashamed of what he was than ever.

“I just think I need to learn to be by myself for a little bit. Remember what it’s like to be just…Eleanor, y’know?” She tries to tell him; “You’ve been with me for so long. And I’ve loved you ninety per cent of the time…and hated you the other ten!” she says with a playful grin; “When we get back, you’re not gonna be able to be with me every day. You can’t always protect me from the monsters. It’s gonna be hard for us to even be friends in public, let alone anything closer than that. And…that’s a good thing, I think, sorta.”

He bristles a little, feeling his throat go dry; “W-we can still find time to be together. I can pretend I’m taking you off to torture you in private and then when we’re alone we can just…hang out, whatever you want. Same with the others.”

“And that’ll be awesome, but we’re still gonna be looking over our shoulders in case of peeping demons.” Eleanor tells him; “I love a good sneaky romance as much as the next horny Phoenix girl but…there’s a lot at stake here, for all of us.”

He nods, understanding. He honestly hadn’t thought about it as much as he should have before, when they thought about going back to the neighborhood. He’d convinced himself that, if Eleanor still wanted to be with him, they could be together in private and screw what the others all thought.

But nothing is ever so simple. There’s going to be suspicions raised about Trevor mysteriously disappearing. Shawn has warned he’s on thin ice with a second ‘reboot’.

Michael is dreading having to go back to pretending to be the diabolical torture lord in front of his colleagues, as well as the bumbling, meddlesome Architect when in public around his humans. He won’t be able to hold Eleanor’s hand in the street. He will have to be careful spending time with any of them, always thinking of a lie to sell to his confused co-workers.

“I’m gonna miss being your not-angel.” He confesses.

“Hey. Given what I’ve come to believe about the real Good Place bozos and how little work they seem to do for us poor schmucks, I think you’re the closest thing to a real angel I’ll get to meet.” She says, fiddling with bowtie.

He isn’t quite sure how to take that. It’s not the insult that digs into his brain as it used to.

“At least you’ll still have Chidi staying with you.” He relents, masking his envy; “I know he’ll keep an eye on you, make sure you’re okay.”

“Yeah, he’s a trooper. Dunno how you both put up with me.”

“It’s unclear.” Michael smirks, even though the answer is clear as day.

When you fall in love with Eleanor Shellstrop, you’re prepared to walk through Hell and back for her.

*

She pushes the broom against the piles of confetti coating the street, grunting as she struggles to shove it all into the garbage bag and tying the top knot. This honestly shouldn’t be as annoying as it was the last time. She thinks that she probably didn’t need to cause quite as much of a mess at the party, knowing full well what it would lead to in the harsh light of today.

There’s a zooming overhead as Gale and Bambadjan pass by, a dozen feet in the air, grinning away.

“Wow, Eleanor! This is so amazing! I can’t wait for you to try it!” Gale cheerily says to her.

She manages the best pleasant, slightly irate, smile she can; “Oh I’m having enough fun cleaning up the town, trust me. This is the real eternal reward, am I right?”

Bambadjan shrugs; “To each their own, I guess – mine is definitely flying! Wee!”

“Haha! Looks like you guys are on cloud nine!” Michael appears at her side, beaming up at the two demons; “Bet you can’t wait to get up there, hey Eleanor? Only a mile left to clean up and you’re done.”

“Uh huh, shouldn’t take more than another three hours.” Eleanor clenches her jaw, making her knuckles turn white around the broom as the three demons chuckle away.

Bambadjan and Gale thank her for her community service, sickly false gratitude dripping from their tongues, before they join hands and zoom away, screaming as if on Space Mountain.

Eleanor lets out a breath; “God, I thought they weren’t gonna leave me alone. Couple of vultures.”

Michael rubs her back; “No, you did great. You looked perfectly tormented.”

“Hmm, I’d say you do the clueless, hurtful mastermind a little too well sometimes.” Eleanor narrows her eyes and pokes him with her broom handle.

“I have to make it convincing, it doesn’t mean I enjoy it…Not all the time.”

Eleanor unfolds a piece of paper from the pocket of her dress and hands it to him; “Well when you’re not enjoying fake torturing us, this can keep you busy. Chidi’s reading list for you to catch up on.”

She watches as the demon unfolds the paper and his face falls into that of a sulking teenager.

“Oh, jeez. Les Misérables? That book drones on forever! It’s gonna take me a whole…five minutes, maybe.” He sighs, putting it in his trousers pocket; “Can’t I spend that time researching how to get you all into the real Good Place?”

“No, if you’re serious about being on our team, you take the Professor’s classes seriously, as we agreed.” She reminds him, keeping her voice low as some more demons fly near, but thankfully don’t try to talk to them; “Speaking of which, first lesson is tomorrow at nine, do not be late.”

Michael sidles closer to her; “How about we skip it and sneak off to the lake? Have a picnic? C’mon. I killed Trevor for you.”

“Dude, you can’t use that to get me to ditch class AND let you finish my frozen yoghurt.”

“Oh, my bad, I forgot I already played that card today.” He blushes, quickly stepping back when Gunner walks past them on the street. Michael raises his voice; “As I was saying, Eleanor, you really are a saint for agreeing to clean all this mess! I still worry what it was that caused that awful disturbance this morning! I better go check with Janet. Happy sweeping!”

Eleanor struggles to contain her glare. Maybe he is enjoying torturing her again far too much.

*

“The lake has a canoe.” Michael tells her, the two of them still leaning over the patio wall, neither having spoken much in the last two minutes.

Eleanor looks at him, her brow creased; “What’s that now?”

“The lake, back outside town, it has a canoe. It’s perfect for sitting out in on a nice day and reading.” He says to her, twiddling his thumbs; “It’s on Chidi’s list of things he wants to do with his soul mate. Just…letting you know in case…”

He sees her cock her head to the side, an amused grin forming.

“You think I’m looking to get with Chidi?” She asks with a raised eyebrow.

He’s only trying to help. Sure, the thought of someone else kissing her, touching her, being close to her, makes him reel with jealousy. But he’s prepared to suffer that, to shove it down deep inside, to not let it sour the friendship he still has with Eleanor, or the one he could potentially have with the ethics nerd – though he should probably stop referring to him as that. What’s most important is that Eleanor is happy; it doesn’t matter who it is that helps her feel that way.

He already tried and failed. He’s not worthy of her.

“I know you had feelings for him before. And he cares for you.” Michael says, always remembering the ferocity Chidi showed when he kept pushing Michael to go fetch Eleanor from the Bad Place; “He’s the right man for you, Eleanor. Trust me.”

It feels as though he’s finally, truly, letting her go. What he always knew was coming but struggled against so hard. Accepting that Eleanor was not and never truly was his human to keep.

The woman is quiet as she regards him.

She taps her fingers on the patio wall; “Y’know. Chidi is a great guy. He’s kind, he’s smart, he’s understanding, he’s patient and sweet and hot as hell-.”

“Okay, I get the picture.” There’s no need for her to start torturing him.

“I mean, let’s face it, he’s everything I could want in a man…”

“Gotcha.” Michael cringes.

“Too bad I want a demon.”

*

Trevor might be long gone, screaming for eternity as he sizzles in pieces on those thousands of suns, but he hasn’t left her dreams. Eleanor didn’t expect as much.

Almost three weeks since she was welcome for the second time into ‘the Good Place’, she finds herself waking up soaked in sweat, her eyes red raw from crying, muffling her own screams with the pillow. When she finally grasps at reality, her fear turns to panic at the thought a demon might hear her night terror shrieks and figure out she hasn’t been truly reset.

It helps having Chidi stay with her. He usually wakes, quickly rushing to her side, soothing her with gentle hands and comforting words. It helps. It soothes. He really is perfect.

But it’s not quite the same.

He doesn’t always wake, possibly too wiped out from the effort he puts in to teaching three human idiots and a barely reformed demon how to be ethical, which they don’t always make easy for him. Especially when the mental torture of this place is enough to send them all into a bad mood. Chidi has to put up with his own pranks and mind forks from the other demons. He at least deserves a peaceful nights rest.

On those nights, when Eleanor bolts upright in bed, alone, feeling small and defenceless again, she doesn’t dare disturb her most loyal friend. Instead she whispers for Janet, who sends a message to the one she needs.

He’s usually there in two shakes of a squid’s tentacle, quietly climbing in through her bedroom window like a sneaky high school boyfriend.

Eleanor hates that she still needs him for this. She worries that her mind will never be free of Trevor’s scars, not even after a thousand years in fake Heaven.

But she’s grateful that he still comes for her. Without fail.

And when she falls asleep in his arms, head nestled on his chest, she can’t help but wonder if Michael feels almost as dependent on their chronic sleeping arrangement as she is. He’s usually gone by the morning, creeping out before she has a chance to wake, no time for him to wake her like he used to, for them talk about it. He has work to do now. He can’t be seen leaving Eleanor’s house every morning. She falls asleep feeling safe and cared for, then wakes to cold solitude, even with her room mate on the other side of her clown wall.

One time she wakes when he’s sliding out the round window and Vicky walks nearby. Eleanor holds her breath as she hears the demon ask what Michael was up to. He lies that he left a tarantula in Eleanor’s bedroom, which she then proceeds to confirm with a scream. Vicky is satisfied.

Eleanor knows they can’t do this anymore.

*

“You want…?” Michael blinks at her in disbelief when she says the words.

“You heard me. I want a demon. I want you, Michael, fiery tentacles and all.” Eleanor smiles, “I don’t even know for sure if I was attracted to Chidi as anything more than a savior best friend type way…And I do love the guy. But he’s not you. You might not be perfect but it’s like you said before. We always knew who the other one was. Not an angel. Not a sweet girl. Just an immortal idiot and his Arizona trash bag, right?”

He feels so confused right now. Isn’t she trying to break it off with him? But she’s also saying that she still wants him. Why do humans have to be so contradictory?

Then, to add on more feelings to the ones he doesn’t already need, she’s moving up against him.

Her fingers are stroking up his neck and tugging him down until his lips have no choice but to meets hers. Michael moans, lightly, as he leans into her, his hand moving to the small of her back. Such a little human, he always has to bend down or lift her up to make this work. But, oh boy, does it work. Her tongue massages against his own, still such a pointless and anatomically wrong exercise, but undeniably thrilling, her nails stroking through the tips of his white hair at the back of his nape.

Eleanor’s eyes are bright and hopeful when she finally pulls away, lingering close, her hips pressed close against his, still holding onto each other. He worries if, when he lets go, it will be for the last time.

“Was that a goodbye kiss?” He would have liked to know before hand, to make it last in his memories for as long as his existence.

She smiles at him. Damn it.

*

She’s pretending to avoid him today. She’s supposed to be a suspect. A giant flying saucer crashed into the train station claiming to have come to collect ‘the one who doesn’t belong’.

That was Jason’s idea. He just really wanted Michael to make him his own E.T.

Sometimes it feels as though the humans are helping do his fake job for him.

“I left you a present.” Michael manages to whisper to her, sitting in the chair at the café behind where she’s trying to be incognito, wearing sunglasses and pretending to read a fake newspaper; “Nice costume by the way, Sandiego.”

Eleanor smirks behind the red leather trench coat. She’s glad someone got the reference.

“You okay?” He asks, already making a move to leave, in case someone notices.

She puts her hand down to the side, between their chairs, showing him a thumbs up. Not great, not perfect. This whole game of cat and mouse they have to pretend to play every few months to make it seem like Eleanor is on her toes about being caught is a pain in the ash. But it’s their day job, it’s a living, as in it actually keeps them ‘alive’ in the best way they can know.

The nightmares still come. She deals with them on her own, like a grown up. It sucks.

“You?” She asks, knowing it’s unlikely he’s fully recovered from what happened anymore than she is.

He reaches down and links his thumb around hers. The same. She presses hers against his, the briefest of connections they can allow right now.

It’s dangerous. It’s a huge risk. It’s part of the fun.

“Present is on your bed. See you in class.” Michael downs his anti-matter and stands up, leaving the premises as if he hadn’t noticed his human, pretending to carry on searching for her.

*

“Not goodbye.” Eleanor assures him, stroking his cheek; “Just a little incentive.”

He tilts his head at her, unsure what she means.

“We can’t be together in your fake Good Place, not with all those demons watching our every move.” Eleanor explains, a little sad; “But, here’s hoping, the real Good Place won’t give us any trouble. So, I’m going on faith here that kiss will be motivation to get your ash in gear and find us a way there, asap. Got it?”

Michael’s chest flutters as he smiles at her. He nods.

That was certainly some incentive.

“I love you, Michael.” Eleanor tells him, “And I think I trust you, for the most part…I just…need some time to learn to trust myself. That okay?”

He moves his hand up to hold hers.

“Anything you need. However long you need it. A week, a month, a thousand years…You know where I’ll be.”

Their promise.

Eleanor nods; “I know,” And she leans in for another, a softer kiss this time.

He waited, unknowingly, for eternity before she appeared in his life before. He can wait a little longer. He’ll try to become the angel, or at least the better man, she deserves. Even if she decides, after a century or two, that she doesn’t want him, he’ll keep the oath he swore on her soul. Never lie, never betray, never leave.

He’ll be right there.

*

Eleanor finds the gift laid out on her bed, as promised. A crisp, white shirt. It’s far too large for her, reaching halfway down her thighs, almost like a dress. The sight of it makes her chest warm.

She thought it was lost in the fire.

Carefully, she picks it up and holds it to her, the collar pressed to her lips. She takes a sniff, amazed that his cologne still lingers, even though she practically stole the thing off of him over a year ago now. Must be magic. She’s still smiling to herself as she folds it up and puts it under her pillow. It doesn’t quite beat having a full body demon to wrap her in his arms, but she can hold a piece of him close, or slip him around her, when the nights become too much, the bleak memories she can never fully shake off scratching at the door of her mind.

No time for that right now. Her friends are expecting her at the lake for a picnic. Chidi’s gonna get to go in his canoe while she and Tahani catch some rays while Jason tries to hunt for that magic panda he’s convinced lives in the bushes nearby.

Michael said he might make an appearance later. If he can. He tries his best but can’t always get away. He wouldn’t dare risk them by pushing the limits of Vicky and the others' suspicions.

They still have their karaoke nights every Friday. They have their study dates together where they spend more time laughing than finishing their essays. He never misses a lesson unless a random torture is due. She knows that he wishes he could be with them, with her, more often than is allowed. They take what precious time they can as they make it through, day by day, the good and the bad. Perhaps this is the Medium Place after all.

And there’s still the beach house. It waits for them, once a month, when Michael takes his ‘assistant’ out for a ‘golf weekend’ which everyone knows Eleanor dreads.

Dumbashes.

*

“You know,” Eleanor says, undoing his bowtie and slipping it off, letting him be free of the mask for a little while longer, before they have to go back; “We never did get around to celebrating our anniversary, did we?”

Michael feels his essence rush and bubble in excitement beneath the suit. He links his fingers with hers, thumb stroking over the bump of her joint.

“Did you have something in mind?”

Eleanor bats her eyelashes, those green eyes putting him under her spell. She really will be the end of his damned existence. And he’s cool with that.

*

Drip. Drip.

Her hand was on the knob of the front door, bag stuffed with towels and books slung over her shoulder. She freezes as she hears it.

And she realises she’s alone.

Drip.

Drip.

She glances over to the kitchen and sees the water fall, seconds apart, clear beads of liquid hitting the base of the sink.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

She walks over and turns off the tap. It stops. It finally forking stops.

Eleanor sighs, her mind relaxing in the sweet silence. She makes her way to the front door again, sticking a middle finger up at the clown photos that are her worst roommates to put up with, before stepping out into the bright, lightly mild sunshine.

She had once dreamed of walking upright, of walking free, feeling the fresh air kiss her face.

She had once thought it would be nothing more than a lost soul’s delusion.

Glancing up to the sky, she shades her eyes with her hand to take a look at the sun. She imagines him looking down at her, just for a moment, seeing her move about with barely any restriction, seeing her talk and laugh with her friends, seeing her love and be loved, let her body be touched without force or manipulation. She imagines him unable to do anything but scream with as much agony as he put her through while she gets to live her perfectly imperfect afterlife, surrounded by those who adore her, and all he can do is watch. Finally, she gives him his damn smile.

And then she stops thinking about him. Her mind has more important concerns. Such as what flavor of froyo to ask Janet for when she meets her friends at the lake for some well earned torture-free time.

‘Winning The Lottery’? No, she tried that last week, it didn’t live up to the hype. ‘Best Friend Has Hot Brother’? Tahani recommended that one.

Eleanor keeps smiling as she walks, a spring in each step, her head held high.

‘Whatever The Fork She Wants’ sounds amazing right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a much angstier ending in mind when I started this two months ago but real life sucks so hard right now that I think we could all do with some fluffy hope to finish off with, as well as what I've already put our babies through in this story. Thanks so much to everyone who followed along with this. It's the longest fic I've ever written and have enjoyed seeing all of your reactions. You've all made this acid snake in the body of a human fangirl very happy! 
> 
> The song which inspired this ending: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7egYKkIKqDs


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